Scar Tissue
by SleepingSeeker
Summary: Part 2 of The Long Way Home. Splinter loses his grip on reality. Leo struggles to help him while dealing w/ nightmares that come true as The Mistress returns. Deborah finds herself getting more deeply involved with Shredder, Raph finds himself pulled deeper into an impossible situation. Don & April learn what a relationship takes. Mikey is targeted by the Mistress. M for content.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So,** if you haven't read The Long Way Home, I advise that you do. But then again, you don't REALLY have to. You could just tag along for the ride and see where it takes you. I'm easy that way, sweeties.

So this would be set one year after the end of The Long Way Home. And yeah, the Mistress is coming back, so lock Leonardo up somewhere safe this time - and keep Mikey away as well - she may be on the prowl for fresh meat.

* * *

_'Her ancient eyes were upon me - they were familiar and black_

_She laid her claws all up on me, she had found me at last._

_…And the beast was upon me, honey,_

_I guess it wasn't so bad'_** –**_The Quotidian Beasts,_ by Phosphorescent

* * *

**Scar Tissue**

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**Chapter 1 - Damage Remains**

Donatello turned in his seat, body still facing the screen of his computer, but head turned towards the doorway that led to the outer rooms of the lair. He sat rigidly, one hand suspended over the keyboard as if some invisible strings held it in place. The sound came again and he bolted. The worn-in chair spun in a lazy circle now devoid of its usual occupant.

Leo was panting; wide eyes open but glazed; braced on splayed hands and knees on the floor; head held low and at an angle as if he were listening to something or for something, Don wasn't sure. All he knew was that there'd been a strangled sound. A muffled gasping cry. Not quite a shout of pain, but close enough, with an edge to it, making it sound like . . . something else. And it had come from this room. His brother's room.

Don paused for a moment where he stood in the doorway then surged forward; falling to his knees. He pushed back the tangle of blankets that were wrapped around Leo's legs and feet. Had he simply fallen out of bed? Did Leo ever fall out of bed? Was he sleepwalking? He and Mikey both had been known to sleepwalk, but Don didn't recall his oldest brother ever doing that.

"Leo, are . . . what's wrong. Is something hurting you?"

As Don placed his hands on his brother's shell and shoulder, he felt Leo's body jump then shudder. He pulled back his hands and blinked in confusion. Don dropped his hands to his lap and sighed in frustration.

"Okay, tell me what happened."

"D-Dream. It was a . . . only a dream," Leo said quietly more to himself than to Don.

"You had a bad dream?" Don asked for clarification. If that's what this was all about it must have been some nightmare. He rubbed the back of his head as his nerves began to calm. Nothing was more startling and unsettling than hearing a frightened or pained shout in the silence of the middle of the night.

_"Not real,"_ Leo murmured breathlessly then repeated it more firmly to the floor. "Not real."

Don released a sigh of relief then turned to stand when his eyes fell on Leo's mattress. Frowning, and still in a crouched position next to Leo's bed he moved closer. With a tentative motion, he reached out with one finger and traced it through the large crimson stain surrounded by spatters of varying circles that sullied Leo's otherwise white sheet. Wet. It was fresh. His face snapped to Leo.

A terrified shriek shattered the quiet of the lair. Leo and Don jumped up. They raced from the room. Leo vaulted over the side of the railing while Don took the stairs down in leaps and bounds. Splinter staggered into the center of the room, clutching at the fur on his chest and holding up his claws in front of his face. His expression was a mask of fright and confusion. Leo was by his side in a second, speaking low and soothing sounds as he gently guided him back to sit on the sofa. He eased him down and shot his eyes to Donnie who hovered just beyond.

"Tea."

Donnie nodded and raced into the kitchen. He set the tea pot on the burner and started it. As he pulled Master Splinter's mug down from the cabinet he heard Mikey and Raph's sleepy questions as they emerged from their respective rooms. Don stared at the tip of his finger, still red with Leo's blood. Rubbing it between his thumb and finger until the blood was smeared, he looked over his shoulder into the living room.

Mikey had joined Master Splinter on the couch now. One hand rubbed the sleep from his eyes while his other arm draped carefully around Splinter's shoulders. Raph paced in agitation just beyond the group in front of the television set. Leo continued to crouch in front of their father, calming their Sensei by taking his hands gently but firmly in his as he continued to lower them away from where the rat tore at the fur at his chest and throat.

As the tea pot whistled, Donnie only caught part of what his brother murmured.

". . . gonna hurt you. No. No, Sensei. You are not a monster. You are our Father."

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**A/N: Dun-Dun-Dunnn!** How long will this be? I'm not sure. I have to finish What Makes a Father as well, so I plan on taking my time with this. Deborah is my OC whom I really love and don't want to screw up her story line too much with a rush job. So, one step at a time, right?

I know I really need to start Part 3 of The Tender Trap and parts of the planning of the story arc are in the works, I swear. But part 2 of The Long Way Home has been a LONG time in coming. It was my first multi-chapter. And these thoughts just keep spinning in my head, distracting me. Especially while listening to the HAUNTING song, The Quotidian Beasts, by Phosphorescent - ya, blame them and their crazy cool sons for this.

Hey...you see that little box down there...would you mind filling it up with a tasty review for me?


	2. Ch 2 - Bleeding Out Inside

**A/N: Denka = Highness, Your Grace **

**Monsuta = Monster **

** Akuma = devil or fiend**

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**CHAPTER 2 – Bleeding Out Inside**

* * *

The floor was littered with the small uneven petals. Pastel yellow, delicate pinks, icy white, crimson deep as blood, they were everywhere. They danced along the floor with each step she took with her bare feet. The bouquets of dozens of roses decorated every stand in her room. Where there was no available flat surface to place them on, the soldiers had set them carefully all around the expansive room on the hardwood floor. The long stems burst from glass vases that stood as tall as her waist. The petals fell like rain as she walk past them, absentmindedly running her palm over the soft flower tops causing the cascade to tumble and silently scatter.

She took a deep breath. Her room smelled like a florist shop. Or a funeral. It wasn't unpleasant. Not really. Nothing in her life right now was unpleasant. Ever since the snowy night just over a year ago, when vengeance lay within her grasp, his throat vulnerable and exposed, waiting for her to plunge the wicked prongs of the sai into his throat . . . and did she act? Did she bring justice to her brother's murderer? No. She was weak. She failed him. Tyler. And her reward for this cowardice was splendor and excessive comfort like she had never even dreamed of before. It was like a waking dream that she drifted through. Life had become surreal. Nothing was hard anymore. No more struggles. She had everything.

Deborah caught her reflection in the tall mirrors that lined one side of her suite. Her long blond hair hung limply down the sides of her shoulders, her face white and drawn. A wraith in a black sleeveless turtle-neck halter top and form-fitting dark jeans that hugged the curve of her hips. A vacant gaze stared back from large empty eyes.

She promised herself that she would seek the justice her brother deserved. But instead she wallowed in luxury. Allowing herself to be sought after and courted by a man that was like no other she'd ever met. He was no ordinary man. He was an emperor of an invisible kingdom. A demon. With all the lithe beauty, charisma and mesmerizing charm possessing of one. And she was finding herself more and more drawn to him. And though they had hardly even spoken to each other, he filled her thoughts and dominated most of her dreams. Most, not all. A few, precious few, remained free. And he claimed the spotlight in those. The other one. Her special friend. But she could not doubt the fact that she was as enchanted by Oroku Saki as a child is by a clever illusion.

Loathing filled her. "You make me _sick_," she spoke to her reflection through gritted teeth.

Slowly, she reached out and wrapped her hands around a slim vase; lifted it, and heaved it with a scream across the room into the mirror sporting her reflection. It erupted into an explosion of shattered glass, petals, leaves and a spray of sparkling water. Deborah stood; panting, shaking. The chamber door swung open and several Foot soldiers rushed in. The private guard that were tasked with serving her. For a moment, they froze, casting about for any threat. Seeing nothing but the wreckage of the flowers and only Deborah standing there, they dropped to their knees.

"_Denka_, we heard a disturbance."

"Get out," she sneered in a frigid voice.

They exchanged glances then stood in one swift motion. Without another word they fled from her sight. The door snapped quietly closed. Deborah dropped to the floor with a dry sob, wrapping her hands over her head and wished the tears that burned and blinded her would finally fall. She balled her fist and punched the floor. She couldn't breathe. The perfumed air felt heavy and stifling. It filled her lungs with heady scent that made her feel sick and drowsy. She needed to get out of here before she fell asleep and suffocated.

Deborah raised her head. She wiped the side of her face with the heel of her hand. She knew what she wanted. Who she wanted. Climbing to stand, she crossed the room and slid open one of the mirrored doors to one of her multiple closets. Crouching, she grabbed her knee-high leather boots and her matching gray jacket. She threw the items on and pulled open the door. The soldiers straightened in attention.

"I'm going out."

They moved to follow. She spun around.

"I don't need an escort for this."

"But _Denka_–"

She ground her teeth as she held up her hand to silence them. "Do I need to tell Saki that the men he assigned me don't know how to obey orders?" The mention of their master's name had the effect she wanted. They visibly cringed and backed off. Then they bowed deeply.

"Forgive us."

She turned and headed towards the elevator. She punched the button and crossed her arms. A swirl of guilt pulled at her stomach. Maybe it was wrong. So much of her life was wrong. She ran her hands through her hair as the door opened with a soft _ding_. If she could just see him again, maybe she'd find her balance. He would ground her and remind her who she was.

* * *

Raph stared at the mug in front of his brother. He really wished he could stomach coffee. This morning he could use the caffeine boost. He was exhausted from a night of tossing and turning. The early start with his father freaking out did not help. But it never sat right with his stomach whenever he tried it. It only gave him a bad case of heart burn. He grimaced and rubbed his groggy face roughly. Mikey appeared next to Donatello and slid a plate of breakfast across the table to him. Raph stared at the scrambled eggs and toast. He mumbled his thanks and picked up his fork. Before he could take a bite, Leo entered the kitchen. Raph froze and everyone's face snapped to the eldest of them. Leo took hold of the back of the chair and pulled it back, then sat heavily into it.

"He's asleep . . . finally."

They were silent for a moment before Michelangelo spoke. "What do you think set him off? A bad dream?"

He placed another plate of eggs in front of Donatello then turned back to the stove. It had been a relatively quiet week without an incident from Splinter. Most days he spent watching television and murmuring incoherent things to himself. It was the longest stretch yet without any problems. Everyone had secretly hoped that they had turned a corner in his recovery at long last. But then last night . . .

Don exchanged a knowing look with Leo but said nothing as his brother quickly swept his gaze away. Could his nightmare have had something to do with Splinter's setback? His face paled to a sickly light shade of green and Donatello caught it. "I . . . I'm not really sure," Leo answered honestly.

Raphael pushed his plate away, food untouched. "Isn't there somethin' we can do to help him get over this? I mean, it's been a year of this shit. When's he gettin' better?" He turned a pleading look towards Donatello who shifted uncomfortably where he sat.

"We've been over this, Raph. When the . . . the, uh . . ." No one noticed how Leonardo dropped his gaze swiftly away from Donatello and fumbled with his fingers nervously as he brought up the Mistress. "Um . . . that golden woman blasted Master Splinter he . . ." Donnie glanced around, nervous that they'd stop him or challenge his story despite the fact that they never had before, Donatello still had doubts about what he'd seen and experienced that day. "He . . . looked like he was transformed back to his human form. It only lasted a few minutes, before I . . . she grabbed me, then I couldn't see what was happening with him. He was behind me. But from the time that I was pulled away from Sensei to the time Leo stabbed her, it couldn't have been more than ten minutes at the most." Donatello shrugged and stared at the cooling coffee before him. "The next thing we know, he was normal again. Er, I mean, a rat . . . again."

"That still doesn't explain why he's," Raph's jaw worked as he struggled with the right words. He dropped his voice into nearly a whisper, "Why he's messed up in the head."

"Raph," Mikey complained and crossed his arms, spatula in hand.

Raph slammed his hands down on the table and stood up. Frustrated and feeling helpless. "What? It's true, right? He ain't been normal since then." He kicked back his chair and started to pace. "Christ, what's it gonna take?"

"I examined him thoroughly afterwards, Raph. If you're thinking that he had some cranial injury or brain damage from the impact of his head against the wall . . . I don't think so."

"Then why?" Mikey asked.

Donatello blinked and pushed his mug away. "I don't know, _okay_?" he snapped. It was his turn to stand up. He ran a hand over his face as his brothers watched him turn and place his mug into the sink. He leaned his weight against the edge of the metal sink. His shoulders dropped. He turned to face them.

"Maybe it's mental or emotional trauma. It has to be psychological. I mean, think guys. It's simple. If we were once normal, _human_, and then were mutated into this . . ."

His brothers stared at him. An expression of hurt, shame and fury on each of their faces in turn. Donatello stopped what he was about to say. He clamped his mouth shut. He backtracked and cleared his throat.

"The, uh, the only thing I can think of is that the shock did it. The emotional and mental shock of getting a chance to be normal once more only for it to be snatched away from him again so quickly . . ." he shook his head and glanced up at them with his brown eyes.

Leonardo dropped his head and his throat worked. "I . . . I had no choice. I-I had to take my chance to stop her, Donnie," he said in a very small strained voice.

The sound of it set Raphael's teeth on edge. Here we go. If it wasn't his father acting like a complete nut-job and running through the lair night and day tearing out his fur in bloody clumps, it was his brother acting like he had to carry weight of the world on his shoulders and it was his solemn duty to do so. As if none of them had any problems they were struggling with themselves. Scars that refused to heal properly after what they'd gone through last year. Leo wasn't the only one suffering from their father's dementia and the shadows of the days spent in the clutches of the Foot.

Raph was sick of it. He was sick and tired of Leo stalking around here like a ghost afraid of his own shadow. Sick of feeling lost and helpless. Sick of his father not knowing where he was or why he was a mutant freak. Sick of having to explain over and over again that he and they were not monsters out of some B-horror film when part of Raph thought that was exactly what they were. Freaks. Just like what Donatello was about to admit to all of them. He huffed. Who were they kidding here?

But most of all, he was sick of the lingering heartache that just would not ease. Aching stubbornly and stupidly for something so out of reach it might as well have been the moon he yearned to possess. Someone he didn't deserve and could never be with anyway. After all this time he should've been over her. That was the worst part of it. He wasn't some sappy moon-eyed kid, moping and sulking after a dead-end crush. No, he dealt with things head on. Even if it hurt. Even if it wounded and left scars. He'd deal with it and move on. End of story. And yet here he was, still thinking about her. Still wanting her. At least he kept it to himself.

His brother was different. His brother wallowed in second guessing and guilt. Constantly. He made sure everyone saw how depressed he was and it was almost like he got a twisted kick from it. Why else would he keep up the act? What kind of leader was that? Raphael ground his teeth as he looked from Donatello to Leonardo. A leader should move the team forward. They needed Leo's guidance and leadership, now more than ever. He should pull himself together and get over whatever it was fuckin' with his head and _help_ them. Not linger in the self-destructive power of doubt and guilt. It made him sick.

Donatello raised his hands bracingly. "N-No, Leo, I wasn't trying to say-"

"Perfect!" Raph erupted. "Just what we need." Raph indicated Leo with both hands. His building rage at the helplessness he felt found a target to unload on. "Guilt-boy over here taking on the spotlight. Let's hear it. C'mon Leo, explain how this is all your fault. How Sensei's mental illness is now something we should feel bad for _you_ about." He shook his head in disgust. "Why don't we stop what we're doin' and have a pity party for your sorry ass. That'll get us to fixin' Master Splinter."

Donatello dropped his face into his palm. Just what they needed. Another fight.

Mikey threw a pile of dishes into the sink. "C'mon, Raph. Don't put this on Leo just cuz you're pissed."

"Who asked you, Mikey? Why do you think he mopes around the lair all day? He acts like he's the only one that cares about Splinter. He wants us to feel sorry for 'em." He narrowed his eyes at Leo who sat staring at his hands before him on the table. "Ain't that right, _Fearless_?" he hissed.

"This isn't helping anything, Raph," Don tried to reason.

The familiar anger was building and it felt good to unleash it somewhere on something. He pointed at Leo, took two steps and jabbed him in the shoulder. His voice dropped low and threatening, "You never told us what happened on that roof 'cuz _nothing_ happened. You got roughed up and decided to use that as an excuse to be _weak_."

There was a collective gasp from his brothers. Leo's face snapped up. Face darkened with fury. He stood. The chair fell back with a clatter from the force. Raph moved his legs and feet and brought his fists up to fight without realizing he'd even moved. Heart pounding, veins racing with adrenaline. And still his mouth rambled on, "Some leader. Cryin' and moanin' over some bad dreams. That's right, I heard ya. Your whinin' probably woke Master Splinter and set him off."

Leo's fury was replaced with a flushed look that colored his cheeks a deep pink. His eyes widened as his mouth gaped. He took a small step away from Raph.

"I got some advice for ya. Get over it already you fuckin' _baby_."

Leo's fist whipped out and struck him across the jaw before he realized Leo had reacted. Raph was thrown to the side to the floor. Leo jumped on top of him with a snarl. A volley of blows rained down on Raph's face as he brought his arms up to block.

Each flash of pain, Raph accepted; welcomed it; fighting, feeling pain, at least was doing _something_. Besides, he knew he went too far. Leo had nearly died after what he went through on that roof. But he never talked about it. Another thing that Raph held against him. Leo didn't trust him enough to tell him what happened. He wasn't a good enough a brother to be trusted as a pillar of understanding and support. Raph knew he deserved every punch.

Mikey pulled Leo off of Raph. He bucked and struggled, but Mikey held him fast. They fell backwards. Leo thrashed. "That's enough, Leo!" With eyes closed, Leo, panting, collected himself. "Dammit, Raph. Why do you have to be such a jerk?"

Raph sat up and wiped at the blood covering his snout and chin with the heel of his hand. The momentary relief he'd felt when being beaten was wearing off to a dull swirling pool of regret. _I dunno, little brother, _he thought grimly. Everything was fucked up. And as usual, he was only making things worse. The air around him shrunk and strangled him. He was suffocating from their anger and disgust. It mingled with his own self-loathing and grew like a giant constrictor around his chest. He had to get out of there. On wobbly legs he stood and crossed the room in rigid strides.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Don snapped, incredulous.

"Out," he growled.

Don moved to stop him when Leo raised his hand. The exit to the lair slammed closed as he left. "Let him go. I . . . I need to have a little breathing room from him." Mikey patted Leo on the shoulder from behind him. Leo sat forward and Mikey slid back, then scooted next to his big brother; sitting cross-legged.

"He's just pissed about everything. He didn't mean what he said, Leo." He paused, looked up at Don. "No one thinks you went through nothin'," Mikey said using Raphael's way of describing the events of what happened to him on the roof. "Even if you still don't wanna tell us what happened. We know it was bad."

Leonardo met Donatello's concerned face. He saw the questions there in his eyes. Still there. Wanting to know. Even after he'd hoped they'd just let it go. He'd told April about what he'd gone through at the hands of the Mistress. He never wanted to relive that again. He promised himself he never would. He couldn't bear the thought of his brothers knowing how she . . . took him. How his body betrayed him in the most humiliating way as it reacted to her touch. The terror, the pain, and the shameful, unimaginable pleasure that she made him feel haunted him still. If he were to be really honest with himself . . . in the deepest recess of the shadows of his mind and heart, what really frightened him was how much he desperately yearned for her. Like a long-term recovering addict craves the heroin missing in his system.

Suddenly, an ear-splitting shriek came from Master Splinter's room.

"Oh, man. Not again," Mikey sighed as Leo wearily climbed to his feet. He stumbled forward then hurried and dashed towards his father's room just as Master Splinter emerged, naked and ripping at his fur; babbling and shouting in fright.

"Help! What has happened to me?! Please, help me! _Help me!"_ His face rose up and when he saw Leonardo he shrunk away until he fell onto his back. "No! _Akuma!_ _Monsuta!_ Do not touch me! _Help_!" he bellowed.

Leo dropped to the floor. He heard Michelangelo and Donatello's feet approaching only to stop behind him. He inched towards his Sensei who backed away, digging his heels into the floor in desperation to get away from him. Leo's voice trembled despite his attempt at sounding calm and placating, "No father. No. It's alright. It's _me_, Leonardo. I-I'm not a d-demon. I-I'm your _son_-" his throat caught on the last word making it crack. As he crawled towards Splinter, he felt two hot tears break free and roll down his face. His family was coming apart at the seams and he didn't know how to hold them together. Raph was right, he was weak.

And last night . . . last night she had him. The Mistress had found him. He thought she was banished from his life; from his nightmares. It had been so long since he'd dreamt of her. She was dead. He killed her. But there was nothing remaining of her here. No proof of her destruction. What if his sword merely banished her back to the realm she came from? Last night would just be the beginning. A tremor of fear ran through him with the thought.

Raph's words tumbled through his mind, _'Get over it already, you fuckin' _baby_.'_ Leo dropped his face as more tears followed the first two and his shoulders shook. If only he were stronger, maybe he could.

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**A/N: **Reviews fill me with joy! :D Pretty please...


	3. Ch 3 - Small Crimes

"Leave me out with the waste

this is not what I do.

It's the wrong kind of place

to be thinking of you.

…it's a small crime

and I've got no excuse." - 9 Crimes, Damien Rice

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**Chapter 3 – Small Crimes**

* * *

The morning air hit him, humid and heavy. He felt the coolness from the subterranean levels evaporating off his flesh as he ascended the building's fire escape. His body had broken out into a clammy sweat as he strode across the apartment's roof. In the distance the morning traffic roared its low thrum of mechanical noise, pierced by the wailing of sirens. Raphael sniffed at the warm breeze, a light haze hung within the dang air. The sun was obscured by a gray cast of clouds that made the sky more a sickly yellow than anything resembling blue.

His face throbbed from the blows Leo had landed. He swallowed and tasted the last remnants of blood that had pooled in the corners of his mouth. He swallowed it back and smack his lips with the bitter taste. His tongue probed the slightly swollen side of his inner cheek. His teeth has sliced a decent gash there, but like most wounds to the mouth, it had stopped bleeding soon after it was cut. He huffed through his nose and leaned against the shadow of a stairwell shelter. He ran a palm over his face. Regret pulled at him.

"I'm an asshole," he mumbled, remembering the shocked look on Leo's face as he blamed him for waking Master Splinter with his cries of panic from the nightmare that he was gripped in. If only the stubborn ass would just confide in them and spill what had happened to him, then . . . Raphael sighed. At least, he'd understand why his brother suffered like he did. He was trying to hide it. Leonardo was never a good liar. Raph and Don and hell, even _Mikey_ knew he was hiding something from them. And with everyone focused on Master Splinter's declining mental health, it was easy to overlook a few nightmares and withdrawn behavior. But Raph knew Leo too well. Something lingered from that night when they were separated. It lingered and festered like an unattended wound. His brother was hurting. But he wasn't the only one.

The real problem was, nothing had been settled after they got back to the lair. Everyone slipped into familiar patterns without much thought. Splinter's mental decline only made it easier for everyone to forget about the events of their capture. Leo clammed up and focused on Splinter nearly every minute of the day tending to him; talking him down from his violent outburst and mad ramblings. Raph went back to his familiar routine, hoping that the more he fought with the punching bag, the less he'd think of losing _her_. It wasn't as if he just forgot that Leonardo had been tortured. He just didn't know what had been done to him. And he accepted that it was all his fault they were ever captured.

Raph had wanted to apologize, but he never quite found the right time to open up to Leo about the night they were caught. Every time he did try to approach it, Leo got elusive and slipped away from him either by literally leaving the room or changing the subject as if Raph never even started to talk. And it pissed him off so he stomped off to his own corner of the lair. But how could he move on and let go of all the frustration and guilt when he couldn't forget that night? The night of their fight in the industrial park. Where he'd gone in hopes of seeing her again. An uncomfortable emotion swept through Raph and he shifted.

Enough moping. He needed to move.

They weren't allowed to go topside in broad daylight, but he had to get away from them. Leo had better get a grip on himself and start leading like he was supposed to. No matter what had been done to him. Raph huffed. He needed to get over it already. The family was falling apart. They needed Splinter to get better. They needed Leo to fix things.

He broke out into a dash and leapt clear of the space between to the next, repeating until he made his way to the more shadowy neighborhoods where he'd get his fill of busting heads. After a while, he stood, glancing down from a fire escape into the alley between an abandoned building and a liquor store. Sure enough, out from the delivery door in the side of the building, two men backed out. One bald and taller than the other by a good head. By their body language Raph could tell they were up to no good. That and the gun clutched in the shorter man's grip. He tucked it quickly into the back of his jeans, cradling the box of liquor with one arm awkwardly. The tall one held a plastic bag filled with money. They cackled and whooped with their score.

As they turned to dash down the alley, Raph dropped in front of them. He rose slowly to stand. The wicked points of his deadly weapons gleamed. The criminals came up short and gasped. The short man dropped the box; the bottles clanged against each other. He scrambled backwards with clumsy frantic movements. His bulging eyes were glued to Raphael's face, clear and exposed in the daylight. His mouth hung open in a silent scream of disgust and incomprehension.

Raph sneered at him, curling his lip to expose one curved canine; his bright green eyes glittered in the shadows. "Scary, I know," he rumbled.

The man screamed. Before Raph could throw a punch, the man was down the length of the alley, running in a blind panic. "Dammit," Raph murmured disappointed that the coward was too craven to even put up a fight. He really needed to blow off some steam. He twisted as he caught movement from the corner of his eye. The tall guy slipped a pair of brass knuckles over his hands and brought his fists up. A smile pulled the corners of Raph's mouth up as he twirled his sais and stuck them back into his belt. He shifted his legs and brought his fists up.

"Let's dance, pal," he said.

The guy stared at him with empty gray eyes. Raph tensed. Then he came in fast and swinging. Raph bobbed and ducked. He chuckled but it was cut short as the man followed up with a swift round house kick. Raph jumped to the side, lurching just out of reach. The guy was into martial arts? _Fine by me. That only makes it better,_ he thought grimly.

"Nice form ya got there, Baldy," Raph taunted. "Just not as pretty as mine," he said as he threw a side kick and swung his fist out in a series of moves that would've made even Leonardo proud.

The man wove around the attacks and blocked the ones he couldn't dodge effectively. Raph huffed. This was getting old. Baldy was fast, too. Not fast enough. The brass knuckles gleamed as his fist flew just past Raph's cheek. Taking the fraction of a second he gained by the crook's forward momentum, Raph came up in a blur and landed a solid blow to the guy's midsection. He heard the man's breath puff out but could barely believe it as he shook it off like nothing happened.

A flash of white blinded him for a second and the gash inside his mouth reopened. Blinking, both in shock and to clear his doubled vision, Raph staggered back and caught himself enough to dodge the man's boot as it flew out at his face from the side. Blood pooled in Raphael's mouth, sliding down his throat. His stomach lurched. Raph turned his head and spat a thick gob of blood. It sprayed across the gravel in a crimson arc.

Raph took two steps forward, chin covered in blood, snarling; he jumped up and spun. His foot connected with the man square in the chest. He flew back, but Raph dropped and sprung; he stayed right on top of him, hammering him with his fists. Baldy brought his forearms up to block, but Raph barreled through him. They continued to stagger backwards. Raph's biceps bunched as he came in low and then finished him with an upper cut that slammed the guy into the bricks of the abandoned building. The back of his head went through a partially broken window. The impact shattered the remaining glass. It rained down over the man's bowed head as he slid to the ground with a low groan.

Raph stood panting before him; shaking out his left fist. Knuckles sore, mouth throbbing, chest heaving, adrenaline pumping. He didn't hear her until it was too late. His fighting instinct in high gear: tuned sharply to only react and not think.

"Nice," a soft voice said from behind him and he spun; sai in hand, but not for long. He threw it and as it slipped from his fingers, his eyes widened in horror; mouth dropping open to scream in denial at the events playing out in sickening slow motion in front of his vision.

The sai flew forward. The aim true. If she hadn't been trained for the past few years with the Foot it would have surely met its destination square in the center of her trachea. But Deborah was able to just tilt her head as she lurched to one side. Instead of the weapon piercing her throat, only the curved prong caught her and slid into her delicate flesh. The long straight blade had merely grazed the side of her neck, leaving a long, shallow gash. The sai pinned her backwards against the liquor store. Her back slammed into the bricks and the breath was forced out from her lungs. Raph crossed the distance between them and was on her in a second.

"No!" his voice cracked, "Oh, oh _fuck_!"

She grimaced as he grabbed the hilt of his sai and pulled it free from the wall with a sharp yank and an aggravated cry of distress. The puncture wound was the size of a dime and had missed her larynx by a fraction of an inch. As he freed the prong of his sai, the wound spilled a curtain of blood, making Raph gasp. Her face paled and Deborah fell forward. He caught her in the crook of his elbow and felt the strength in his legs give out. _What had he done?_ He just murdered the woman of his dreams. The only woman he'd ever loved. The first and only woman he'd ever kissed. Probably the only woman he'd ever get the chance to kiss. His breath hitched in his throat. His voice bubbled up through his swollen mouth, only to make strangled, frightened sounds that were so foreign to him, he briefly thought they were coming from Deborah.

She squirmed in his fumbling grasp and he felt the warmth of her blood on his bicep as she struggled against his hold. Panic lanced him, blanking his mind and he only gripped her more tightly. His face darted around the alley. In the distance, cars honked and sirens blared. The mundane world carried on all around him and it seemed to mock him in his desperate state. The only thing he could think of was that he needed to put pressure on the wound and why the fuck did he throw his sai without checking who had spoken. Was he that careless? That uncontrolled? Splinter would be furious. If he were coherent, he thought with a pang that hurt more than he'd expected.

He started as her fist came up and punched him in the chest. And then again. Her fist splayed out and she pushed against him. He didn't budge. She strained against him and finally he caught on and released her, backing up on his knees to give her some space. He ducked his head low, trying to see her face hidden beneath a curtain of blond tendrils. Her hands pressed against her throat. Her blue eyes snapped up through her bangs and narrowed. He swallowed and the thick blood that went down soured his stomach. He ignored everything as he looked at the woman before him. How could he have done something so stupid? His face crushed down into a mask of anguish.

"D-Deborah, oh god. Can I . . . C-Can I . . . Are you . . .?"

"What . . . _the fuck!_"

Raph blinked. His face burned as he stared at her as she leaned back. With the back of one shaking hand, she brushed the hair from her face. She looked pale, but her eyes flashed with fury in his direction. She pulled a wad of tissues out from the side pocket of her jacket. He saw her hands tremble as she folded it and pressed it into the wound. She swore softly again under her breath and closed her eyes.

Guilt weighed on him, but Raph felt his initial fear being swallowed up with anger now that he knew she wasn't dying. What was she thinking sneaking up on him in the middle of a battle? Was she that stupid or just crazy? A wave of mixed emotions swept through him. Relief, anger, happiness, anxiety; it all tumbled into a ball of knotted feelings that left his head spinning.

It had been months since he last saw her. Nine months, two weeks and three days, to be exact. Not that he was counting. His throat worked and he did his best to imagine that the reason his heart was pounding so uncomfortably was due to the adrenaline from the fight and not just because she was near. Because he had held her in his arms, briefly though it was, it was enough for him to catch the light lavender scent that had drifted from her hair, the strangely attractive salty, earthy scent of her sweat and the lingering smell of roses from her clothes. No, he was not that weak. His heart was pounding because of the fight and the shock of having nearly killed a bystander.

After all, she didn't want him. Not him or his pathetic love. She had said as much on that roof those long months ago when he'd blurted that he loved her like a complete moron. She'd only looked at him with a sort of sad pity that haunted him in quiet moments. She had no feelings like that for him. It was all a misunderstanding. Besides, who would? He was a freak. And she was a human; not to mention gorgeous. But he wasn't anything; not human or turtle. He was nothing. Nothing worth loving. He just had to remember that fact and he'd be golden where she was concerned. His mind raced along with his heart so desperately he clung to the boiling anger like a lifeline.

"What the hell were you doin' sneakin' up on me?"

He stood up and took a step back. He hooked his thumb into his belt and cast a look down the alley. Baldy was still out cold and no cops in sight. No alarms sounded. Dimly, he hoped the crooks hadn't killed the liquor store owner. He caught movement as Deborah used the wall to inch her way up to standing. Raph eyed her, keeping his head turned away. Trying his best to look unconcerned. Though he had to stop himself from reaching out to her when she swayed. Angry with himself, he pried his tongue into the gash in his mouth and internally swore at the pain. It steadied him nicely.

"Well, I thought rat-dad taught you how to control yourself," she spat and looked glumly at her palm coated in red. Her head was sending sharp shooting pains through her skull and the wound at her neck was a searing, throbbing pain. The little accident with the turtle's sai was going to leave a mark for sure. Saki would notice. Fuck. She was meeting him for dinner tomorrow night. How would she explain this? Lost in her distress, she didn't notice how the turtle stiffened at her off-hand remark.

Raph bristled at the insult aimed at his father. He took a step towards her.

"Don't call 'em that, you understand me?" He raised a finger and pointed it at her. She was disrespectful at best when it came to Splinter. And though he wasn't a golden boy like Leo when it came to their father, there was no way he was going to let some chick insult him. The anger he was feeling roared into life. His hands fisted and he took a half-step away. It was so much easier to deal with her like this. Easier to back off and give himself some breathing room. Because being this close was too much like not being able to breathe at all.

"Why don't you get outta here," he grumped and folded his arms across his chest.

She huffed; ignoring his warning and did the most stupid thing: she pulled the bloody wad of tissues away from her throat and gingerly prodded the wound. Stars and bubbles filled her vision as her legs turned to water and her stomach fell. She made a gurgling noise that might have been, _oh god_, as she stumbled forward. Raph's eyes went wide and for the second time in less than fifteen minutes, he caught her in his arms. Her soft curves pressed into him and her scent hit him making his knees go weak. He cleared his throat.

"Hey, easy. Why'dya have to poke it? Christ that was stupid. What're they teachin' you in the Foot?"

Deborah frowned up at him. "Dunno, but . . ." Her eyes grew round as her stomach heaved and Raph stiffened as he braced himself for her vomit on him. But it never came. She raised a finger. "I need a band aid." Her legs crumpled and Raph steadied her. "And an aspirin." He twisted, feeling exposed and helpless.

"Uh, I don't really have anything like that on me . . ." he started and he was struck with inspiration. He looked down at her. "But I know where we can get some."

Deborah nodded dreamily, "Yes, please," she slurred.

He wrapped his arm around her back and helped her walk towards the fire escape. He leaned her against the building as he jumped up and caught the lower part of the metal bars. With a heave and a scream of metal on metal, he pulled it down. He turned to help her up and stopped to find her gone.

He twisted to find her coming up from rummaging around the box the crook had dropped. In one fist she held up a bottle of dark brown whiskey. She swayed and cocked an eyebrow at him and shook the bottle in her grip. She twisted the cap and raised the bottle. Raph tensed as he saw her take a deep swallow, then wince with a grimace.

"Sustenance . . . to help get through the pain."

Raph shook his head in a mix of admiration and disgust. What was her deal? He realized with a start that he actually hardly knew her at all. The few moments they had shared together over a year ago didn't exactly add up to a friendship; hell not even an acquaintance. She saved him from the Foot. They'd spoken a handful of words to each other. And she'd kissed him – twice. Once hello and once goodbye. What did that even make her to him? He swallowed dryly and his eyes raked over her.

She made quite a sight: one hand pressing on the gash in her throat, the blood covering her chest, swaying and holding that bottle of booze in her other hand. He felt an unexpected surge of desire that made his face flush deeply. The back of his neck heated up, he ducked his head, internally cursing himself for being an idiot to entertain such feelings. Why was he torturing himself like this? Maybe somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he deserved it. And much worse. Feeling uncomfortable, he wetted his dry lips and found himself at a loss for words.

She was a foot away when she looked at him up and down and said, "Turtles like booze, don't they?"

A wave of humiliation swept through him; at her words; at the way she had sized up his appearance with an open curiosity of a kid examining a weird animal. His stomach sank. He'd been so wrong about her, about everything. He was a damn fool. "Since you're feeling so much better, maybe you can just walk yourself to the hospital." He turned away from her coldly and moved to climb up the fire escape.

"Hey!" Deborah shook her head and stumbled into him; grabbing his shoulder with a bloodstained hand. He froze. "Don't forget who's to blame here, Red," she said and came up close, her curves pressed into him. He glanced sideways at her, wondering if she even remembered his name. Their eyes met and locked. Green on blue.

Her voice dropped to a purr, "So . . . you have to take care of me now."

He blinked at her; his green eyes sparked with intensity. His arm circled around her waist protectively. He pressed her closer without thinking. His heart hammered as he looked down into her slightly dazed eyes, her partially opened lips. His thoughts scattered. The blood rushed through his ears as he watched her lips form the words she said next.

"Will you, Raphael?" she asked and her head lulled onto his shoulder.

Hearing his name on her lips did something powerful to him. In one swift move he shifted; reached down and gathered her up in the crook of his elbow. With one arm he held her snug to his body as he climbed. The muscles in his arms and legs bunched and he grunted softly from the effort. But he got them both up the building in a matter of minutes. Once on the roof, he swept his free arm under her legs. She cradled the bottle on her stomach. Her cheek rested on his upper chest; listening to the rapid hammering of his caged heart and the even bursts of his breathing as he ran.

She hadn't meant for things to go down like this. When she left the lavish suite provided to her by Oroku Saki, she had only set out in the dimmest of hopes of coming across him. Knowing that the rougher neighborhoods were the best place to seek him out. Every time a Purple Dragon was found beaten and left for the police, she knew whose handy work it was. So, she'd gravitated to the areas that she'd heard the turtles were often spotted in. Not really sure if she'd be the one ending up in a fight with a gang member, or just resign herself to roaming the back alleys fruitlessly; her mind roaming on all the mistakes she'd made since that last time she saw him. His face when he confessed his feelings to her. How she said nothing. How crushed he looked; how quickly he'd tried to hide the hurt; failing miserably.

In the deepest recesses of her mind, she knew that he most likely still felt strongly for her. And right now she just needed to bask in that without the pressure of her hidden agenda. She needed him to blot out the mixed emotions and guilt; the confusion and the feeling of being torn in half; one side of her wanting peace and the other lusting for blood. She had only wanted to see him, maybe talk to him, if she were lucky.

Now all she wanted to do was nestle into his strong arms, breathing in his unique scent of earthy soil and forged steel over the coppery, raw scent of her own blood. She closed her eyes and ignored the way her neck ached and her head pounded. She let him carry her away from her troubles, away from her guilt and self-hatred; away from Saki and his slow, steady, seduction and her burgeoning, confusing feelings for him.

Raphael didn't think as he ran. Couldn't if he tried. He only knew that he was holding Deborah in his arms after not seeing her for nearly a year. Aching for something that could never be. Dreaming all those nights, despite his anger at himself, at the situation, of the impossible notion of loving someone and being loved in return. Holding her tightly against his chest as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop heading towards the hideout he and his new friend and fellow vigilante used in case of emergencies; the bitterness and frustration, the guilt and the self-loathing, his father's sickness, his brother's secrets, all faded into the background noise of traffic below.

* * *

**A/N:** So, needless to say, Deborah is not quite in the right frame of mind. But then again, the life she's lived has shaped her into a complex and slightly unbalanced person. Well see if she's the balm to Raph's nerves or the poison that will take him down. What do you think?


	4. Ch 4 - She Arrives

**A/N:** Warning some **HEAT **contained below. Put on protective gear and proceed with caution!

psst: haven't said it in a while, but yeah, don't own them, only in my head and no one wants to get in there!

* * *

"I am not your blowing wind

I am the lightning

I am not your autumn moon

I am the night

The night." – I am the Highway by Audioslave

* * *

**Chapter 4 – She Arrives**

* * *

It was Donatello and Mikey that had finally been the ones to calm Master Splinter. Their Sensei would not allow Leo to come anywhere near him. Leonardo had drawn away at his father's insistence that he was a demon. Though Leo knew he was not in his right mind, it hurt him. A lot. Adding to the collection of scars he was currently enduring on his heart and in his spirit. Donatello had managed to corral him back into his room while Mikey spoke softly and led him by walking backwards and coaxing the old rat along.

Donnie and Mikey reentered the living room. Leo looked up from the couch where he sat with his elbows propped on his knees, his fingers lightly tented; pointing downwards. Quickly, he wiped at the moisture on his cheeks; wiping them dry with the back of one hand and his palm. His youngest brother gave him a sad attempt at a reassuring smile. Leo noticed a bruise on his head. He blinked and frowned. He turned his blood-shot gaze to Donnie. Donatello looked as though he'd just been through a tussle. He appeared disheveled and weary. Leo caught a glimpse of something in Don's hand just as he shifted it to his side, out of sight. Leo stiffened. His worry over Mikey's bruise vanished as a sinking realization hit him.

"Don, tell me you didn't . . ."

Don and Mikey exchanged cautious glances as Michelangelo crossed the room and fell heavily into the loveseat. He kicked out his legs and rubbed the bottoms of his feet against the throw rug.

"Don't get mad," he said and just that statement alone seemed to piss Leo off even more. Mikey tried a different tack. "Bro, he _had_ to. Splinter was getting out of hand in there."

Leo's face snapped around. "But I haven't agreed to using . . . using _drugs_ to deal with Master Splinter's outbursts," he said, feeling his face grow hot with anger.

Donatello sighed. "C'mon, Leo. It's not like I had much choice. He lunged at Mikey twice. You know how strong he is." Donatello set the syringe on the coffee table. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Leonardo glared at the medical tool as if the situation was all its fault.

"You can't just decide to do that, Don," Leo said icily, not looking at his brother; focusing his frustration and anger of the morning's events onto Don's action.

Donatello ground his teeth and looked away; feeling guilty as Leo's furious stare bore into him. "It was only a mild sedative," Donnie mumbled with a shrug.

Leo stood up. "I don't care. You don't drug our father. Got it?" Leo hissed and poked Donnie in the chest with one finger. Donatello took a defensive pose and Mikey rubbed his face.

"Let's not do this right now, guys. Splinter just fell back to sleep . . ."

"I'll do whatever the hell I think is necessary when it comes to our health," Don snapped at Leo and knocked his hand away from his chest.

"Not without –"

"What - asking your permission?" Donatello threw his hands out and slapped the sides of his body. "Please. I didn't exactly have time while Master Splinter was having his episode, Leo." He narrowed his eyes and puffed out his chest, "Besides, I know what I'm doing. And I don't have to get your permission when treating the family." He turned to move around his brother when Leo caught him by the arm; holding him firmly in place. Don's brown eyes shot to his hand and slowly rose to meet his. The cold fury was there in a blank look of outrage.

He wanted to say, let's discuss this. He wanted to explain that they needed to talk about these kinds of decisions and come to an agreement as a family before taking any drastic steps. But the nightmare last night, the words that Raph had wounded him with this morning, Splinter's look of disgust and fear aimed at him, along with dealing with not just one but two of his father's raging episodes left him raw and shaken; exhausted and drained.

He simply ordered in a clipped tone from between his gritted teeth, "_Don't_ do it _again_."

Don pulled free of Leo's grasp with a rough jerk. "Go to hell!" Don snapped, an inch from Leonardo's face. Leo blinked in shock, then a low growl came from him as he balled his fists at his sides.

Donatello clenched his jaw as he stepped back, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Yeah, _growl_ at me. That's real mature behavior coming from our leader," Don said bitingly with a shake of his head. He crossed the room with rigid strides, muttering to himself and swearing under his breath; grabbing his pack from the wall with a huff. "I don't have to put up with this nonsense," he announced to the room.

"Wh-Where do you think you're going?" Leo sputtered.

Mikey jumped up behind him. "Oh, this is just great!"

"_Out_!" Don snarled, in his best Raphael impression. He spun on his heel, throwing the belt of the duffle bag over his head and marched out. The door slammed and Leo flinched, casting a glance over his shoulder towards his father's room. His eyes roved back to the emptied out syringe and dropped away. Most likely it would take more than some noise to wake Splinter from the medicated sleep he was under.

"Dammit! Look man, I know you're stressed," Mikey shouted angrily. "I know Raph was an ass this morning and . . ." he stopped; shook his head, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as he titled his head on a diagonal. He took in a deep breath through his nose, held it and let it out in a rush. His eyes snapped back to his brother. His tone was softer now, "I know how you're feeling about Splinter . . . saying that stuff to you . . . about being a m-monster." He dropped his head and pinched the bridge of his nose then dropped his arm. "And I know that you're still dealing with all the crap that probably happened to you up on that roof a year ago. But you can't take it out on us."

He placed a hand on Leo's shoulder then released it. He went on, sounding uncharacteristically tired and sad, "I wish you'd trust us, Leo." He paused.

Mikey stared at Leo intently for a few seconds with a look of expectation written clearly in his eyes as if hoping he'd just open up and confide in him what had happened. Leo's eyes swept away from him, mouth tightening. He heard Mikey sigh with resignation. He crossed the room and grabbed his skateboard. Leo's face darted up. Mikey was going out, now, too? He wasn't sure what was more distressing: the fact that all three of his brothers were furious with him or that he was . . . _afraid_ to be left alone with their sick father. Was he afraid? No, that couldn't be right. What kind of son did that make him? A pool of unease swirled in the pit of his stomach, mixed with a heavy dose of shame.

"At least - you need to trust Donnie when it comes to the medical junk, okay? Splinter nearly broke my skull-bone." He pointed to the bruise on his head for emphasis. He turned towards the exit but stopped and said over his shoulder, "We're on your side. Try to remember that, okay? I'll catch ya later." And with that he left.

Leo stood in the center of the living room. His breath was shallow and uneven. He nodded, feeling ashamed for taking his frustrations out on Donatello. Mikey was right. Donnie knew what he was doing. It was beginning to feel to Leo like he was the only one who was in control around here. He ran a hand over his face and sighed as he glanced around the room. He just needed some rest. Leo debated whether he would benefit from practicing some katas in the dojo or if he should try to meditate and calm himself.

His gaze fell on the television. Well, his brothers were off screwing around for the day . . . He flopped onto the couch and dug the remote out from the side of the cushion. He started flipping through channels; only to finally turn it off; his eyes growing heavy and drifting closed in the peace and quiet of the empty lair. In a manner of minutes, he was asleep.

* * *

Donatello tapped insistently, but softly at the window until the familiar shape filled it. April pulled back the curtains, her face a mask of surprise. With quick motions, she reached up unlocked the window and pulled the sash open. She stepped back as Donnie clambered inside. She swiftly closed the curtains and spun around.

"Donnie, what the heck? It's broad daylight out there!"

He looked sheepish as he shrugged. "I'm a trained ninja."

"So!?"

"So, it's not like I can't use stealth in the light as well as the dark," he replied a little testily. "It's just the dark makes it easier."

April frowned, but looked him over. He seemed agitated. He started to pace in the small expanse of her apartment's bedroom. "You're lucky I didn't have classes today. The college is closed for a four day weekend. Do you want some lunch? Donnie?"

It was clear that he didn't hear a word she was saying. That wasn't like him. Not that she'd ever counted on it, but Donnie was usually wrapped around her finger no matter what she was rambling on about. His attentiveness was one of many adorable things she loved about him. And since they'd started to push the limits of what their relationship entailed, he'd only become more entranced by her. Not that they'd gotten very far. She was venturing into unknown territory and wanted to be cautious before jumping in with both feet. It was very complicated, actually. The more she thought about it, the more complex it became. It was a frustrating spiral filled with self-doubt and second-guessing. A huff from the turtle in question brought her back to reality and his current irritated state. This was all wrong. Him coming out in the daylight. Bursting in all in a huff. Snapping at her like that. He was only this way when engrossed in a project that wasn't going well, or one of his brothers were hurt. Something was definitely up. A sudden fearful thought broke into her mind causing her heart to stammer.

"Donnie, is Splinter alright?"

He stopped in his pacing, his face snapped to hers. "What? Oh, no. Nothing like that. He's fine." He sighed and dropped onto the edge of her bed. He ducked his head as he pulled the strap of his back over his head and let it fall in a heap at his feet. "Well, you know. He had two episodes today." His voice was still a mix of aggravation and resignation. He stood back up. He threw his hand in the air and held up two fingers. "Two episodes! Just this morning and Leo has the nerve to yell at me for using a sedative. He attacked Mikey! But Leo doesn't hear that part. Oh, no. He's too busy bossing me around like I'm just a child playing at being a doctor. Telling me not to _drug_ him. Like I'm slipping him something that would hurt him. Or like I'm sneaking it in his tea behind everyone's backs."

He stared intensely at April as if she could answer him, "What does he think? That I'd purposely try to harm my own father? Is that what he thinks of me? Is that how much he _trusts_ me?" He spun back around, stomping out of her room into the long hallway that led to her kitchen. He marched on, his mouth still rambling angrily. April stood for a moment, unsure what to do, then raced after him.

"You know I never wanted this job. I never signed up to be family physician. It wasn't like anyone ever _asked_ me. It was just, oh, Donnie you can fix stuff, here, suture these spurting veins – oh and while you're at it, can you set this bone?! GAH!"

He was speaking so rapidly and firing off so angrily, April found her head bobbing up and down and side to side trying to follow along. This was the angriest she'd ever seen the level-headed guy. He pulled open a cabinet, searched around and pulled out the sack of ground coffee. He ripped it open peered inside and flipped the top of her coffee maker's lid open. He dumped almost half of the contents of the package into the built-in filter and snatched the carafe. With abrupt movements he filled it with water and then dumped that into the reservoir at the top. He slammed the lid down, spun around and leaned on the edge of the counter, folding his arms over his chest.

April put her hands up taking advantage of the break in his rant. She pointed at the sputtering coffee maker. "Do you really think caffeine is a good idea right now?" she asked while squinting. He shot her a glare and huffed.

_Ohkay_. "Why don't you sit down?" She pulled out a chair and Donnie, bobbing his head from side to side, moved reluctantly to the chair and did as asked. April pulled two mugs out of one cabinet. She set them down and retrieved a plate of pastries from the fridge. She set them on the table in front of Donnie. He gave them a sidelong glance and grimaced. She poured the coffee and gave him his mug. He turned the mug around and around on the table with his fingertips as the steaming liquid cooled.

"It's just that, I don't know what else to do anymore," he said to the mug. April sat next to him. She picked up one croissant and played with the flaky top, making crumbs litter the table. "He's getting violent." His brown eyes full of distress shot up to meet hers briefly before falling back to his mug. "He nearly cracked Mikey's head open. So far, Leo's been the only one to be able to calm him down. We've all tried different things, but this morning . . . even Leo couldn't reach him."

April reached over and laid her hand on his arm. He pressed his mouth into a thin line. He raised concerned eyes to her.

"I'm scared, April."

April's face crushed into a sympathetic frown. When her father had had his stroke two years ago, she felt as though her world had come crashing down. Everything stable and secure in her life seemed to crumble away, leaving her feeling exposed to the world and helpless. Only her friendship with the turtles got her through that difficult period. But even now, there were set-backs and new health issues that cropped up to throw a wrench into her plans and renew the dread and fear that lived constantly in the pit of her heart.

"I know, Donnie." It was all she could say. There was nothing she could offer. Not for this. She couldn't bear to say that things would be okay. It would be a lie, she knew. She could only be there for him. For his brothers. Donnie shifted and her gaze returned to his.

"April, what happened to Leonardo last year?" he asked directly.

She stiffened and slowly released his arm as she sat back in her chair. She folded her arms and looked pointedly at the edge of the table. Not this again. This had become the only sore point between them. He had asked her on more than one occasion about what his brother had told her. She had very nearly explained to his brothers what he'd confessed all those nights ago and it was only a tiny shred of trepidation that forced her mouth shut. And his ordeal remained between Leo and her . . . and the Mistress.

After the Mistress was defeated and things had settled down. Leonardo had taken her aside and had begun to ask her if she had said anything to his brothers about what he'd confided to her. He was a nervous wreck at the time and she could tell that just bringing up the topic was killing him. When she said no, he had quickly asked, nearly begged her, to never tell them. She had made that promise with the one string attached that he would tell his brothers if things ever got to be too much to deal with. For she knew that his struggle for healing had only just begun and it was a long road to have to walk on alone.

But she'd come to understand the eldest of the brothers maybe better than any of them. This was more than just a matter of privacy. His honor was at stake here. And she would not be party to something that would damage his sense of dignity. No way, she thought stubbornly and with some sense of a big sister looking out for her younger brother. And she would do the same for any of them. Their secrets were safe with her. Always.

"You know I can't say," she answered in a clipped tone. She wouldn't meet his eyes.

"April –"

She shook her head. "I promised him, Donatello."

The use of his full name had him cringe. But he quickly regrouped. "It . . . might help."

"How exactly."

Donatello fidgeted. "Well, I have some idea of what might have happened to him, based on our experiences with the golden woman."

"Then you don't need me to break Leo's trust by telling you what he'd trusted me to keep a secret."

Don placed his hands on his hips and looked away. God, she was stubborn. And beautiful. He shook his head. _Focus_. "She could manipulate our minds . . . she could reach inside and pull out hidden desires . . . fears and . . . well, she had an effect on the males around her. Sort of like a succubus."

"I'm not saying anything." April crossed her leg and started to bounce it in annoyance.

Don plunged on, playing his best card, "I found blood on Leo's mattress this morning."

This had the desired effect. April's face snapped up. "What?"

"He was in the throes of a nightmare. A bad one. Like what he'd been experiencing right after everything settled down, before we fought the woman in the lair. I heard a sound and I ran to his room. He was on the floor. Scared, April," he said significantly. Leo almost never did scared. Raph nicknamed him Fearless out of sarcastic wit, but to Donnie, his brother more than lived up to that moniker. "Then Master Splinter, who was doing pretty well the past few days, had not one, but two violent episodes this morning." He leaned forward in his chair. "I need to know if there's some kind of link. Between his nightmares and what Master Splinter is going through."

"But how would that even be possible, Don?"

He turned back to his cooler coffee. He raised it to his mouth and took a sip. He shook his head. "I'm not sure. But one thing I know: she wasn't from here." He pointed down. "She was from another dimension. And when Leo's sword pierced her chest . . . I don't think it killed her, April. I think it just sent her back to her own realm. I-I think there's a link that we're missing. If I knew what they did to him . . . then maybe I could piece it together and get a better idea of what we're dealing with."

They stared at each other for a few seconds before April dropped her gaze away. Donatello's heart plummeted. In frustration she slapped the table. Donatello flinched. She pushed away from the table and turned her back on him.

"I promised him, Donnie. And you're not even sure about this. What if you're wrong and I tell you and break the promise I made to him." She tilted her head up as she looked to the ceiling. Then she shook her head, hard. "No. I won't break that promise." She twisted around and glared at him, her green eyes flashing. "Got it?" With that she crossed her arms and turned her back on him again, like an angry child unable to look at the source of their fury.

Don internally swore. Why did she have to be so damn stubborn? He stood up, unsure of what to do. He felt lost and helpless and he hated feeling like that. It frustrated him to have a theory just sitting right at his fingertips, but unable to really dig in and explore it without the information she had so deliberately continued to keep from him. What if he was on to something? Didn't she trust in his intellect enough to know that he was usually right with these theories? He just needed her help.

His shoulders slumped. He didn't want to fight with her. His feelings were still bruised from his unusual fight with Leo that morning. He just wanted everything back to normal. He just wanted some peace. Gingerly, he stepped towards her. He stood behind her, wrapped his arms around her. She stepped away from his embrace. She spun around. Her eyebrows were raised and her expression was pure defiance.

"I won't. So save it. I don't need you trying to coerce me into talking by getting all affectionate on me, I'm not that _stupid_, Don."

He stood there for a moment, arms outstretched where he went to hug her. He couldn't hide the disappointment and hurt on his face. He wasn't trying to coerce her. He just wanted some comfort. His arms fell to his sides and he stepped back away from her.

A flash of indignation swept through him at her rejection of his touch. It was more than her not wanting to confide in him Leo's secret. She was always doing this to him. One step forward and one step back. Like it was some stupid game they were in the middle of playing. No one gains ground without losing something in return. He brushed away his frustrations at their complicated situation. Now wasn't the time to focus on their relationship woes. What mattered was what had happened to Leo and how it might be affecting Splinter. He stared up at her, locked in a silent stalemate. A renewed sense of anger washed through him. Why didn't she trust him to know? He was Leo's brother. He had a right. The anger flared up in his chest. He spun around and headed for the window. He threw it open, the blinds crashed with the motion.

"Donnie –"

He froze, halfway out the window.

"Just. Let me . . . Let me talk to Leo, first, okay?"

He sighed hard through his nose. Leo wouldn't agree to this. If he was so adamant that April keep his secret for this long there was no way he'd relent now. She was giving him nothing. Like she always did. Empty promises that were whispered and freely given only to reap nothing when it came to delivering on them.

"Fine," he snapped and added, "do whatever you're comfortable with." Then whether it was the brutal struggle with his father earlier, the fear and confusion of finding blood on his brother's sheets, the argument with Leo, her cold rejection of his embrace or the simple pathetic fact that their relationship had stayed stalled at first base for the past year, he said, "Staying within your comfort zone is what you're good at after all." And even as the words fell from his lips, instant bitter regret followed, dogging each syllable.

He peered over his shoulder with wide eyes to check the fallout from his sharp words. Shocked at his own anger and spite flowing out at the woman he loved dearly and would never, ever mean to hurt. He saw her ball her fists; close her eyes. _Dammit! What the hell was his problem?_

His mouth opened and he started to issue her a sincere apology, twisting around fully, crouched in the window at an awkward angle. He would do anything to make up for what he'd just said. He would grovel at her feet for a week. He didn't mean it. He never, ever meant to sound like one of those boyfriends that pressured their girlfriend for more affection. The very thought made him sick to his stomach. It was the stress getting to him. But that was no excuse. He had to let her know that he didn't mean it. Not a word. He was just tired and scared and angry with Leo and the situation with his father. He'd made a mistake. A stupid, terrible mistake. A slip of the tongue, really.

Just as he started to stutter out the words to beg for forgiveness, her bunny-slipper-clad foot shot out and connected with the side of his shell, sending him flying out of the window. He pin-wheeled his arms, but pitched over the side of the fire escape anyway. Head over heels he fell. He landed two stories below in a very ungraceful, tumbling roll through a pile of garbage cans. The clattering, crashing explosion sent two rats and a cat streaming from the site of impact. Donnie rose up on one knee; head spinning, covered in half a dozen scrapes and bruises. He cast around, half-dazed, half-shocked and bolted for the shadows of the nearby building. Once out of sight and sure that no one had spotted him, he glanced up mournfully at the empty window of her apartment. The blinds were all closed tight.

Suddenly, her bedroom window slid open. Donnie took a step towards the building. His heart beat with hopeful yearning. _Maybe she wasn't that mad, after all! _His bag was pushed through the opening and unceremoniously tossed down to the alley below. Donnie lunged for it; sliding through the garbage and gravel to catch it; immediately regretting his actions, for it only added to his new collection of scrapes and bruises.

He sat up and cradled the bag in his lap. His puppy-dog eyes watched for any sign of April in the window above. But it only slammed shut and he flinched. "Great job, _genius_," he muttered to himself dismally. This day couldn't get any worse.

* * *

His eyelids raised, he blinked once, dropping them back down. Leo cracked one eye back open and peered into the dim and quiet lair. He was still alone. Dreamily he told himself that Splinter must still be knocked out from the sedative.

A part of him knew he should get up, he felt groggy and a little sick from his nap. But his limbs wouldn't cooperate and the couch felt so good. Tempting him to stay where he was. Usually he'd fight such a self-indulgent act, but it was as if he didn't have complete control over himself. Like he was fighting only half-heartedly against nothing of importance anyway. Snuggling deeper into the crook of the couch's armrest and back cushions he felt warm and safe and drowsy. He felt his body grow heavy. The soft feel of fingertips running up his legs to between his thighs; sliding and opening them wide had his eyes snapping open. He made a choked noise of surprise in his nose and scrambled backwards as his eyes fell on a woman kneeling between his knees. But he couldn't get far. She grabbed the tops of his thighs and forced him to stay seated with incalculable strength.

Their eyes locked; blue on gold, and recognition like a gunshot blasted through his mind. He knew those golden irises. Knew them and feared them. Panic spiked through him. Fear, and shamefully hot desire, flamed to life in his heart. He fought against the jolt of excitement that went through his body at seeing her before him, her face so close to his body . . . positioned between his splayed legs. This was not right. She was a demon. She was going to hurt him. He wanted her badly. He could handle it. Leo shook his head, trying to clear the jumble of confused thoughts and warring emotions.

"Wh-What . . . I . . .n-no."

Slowly, she moved her left hand from his thigh. From the corner of his eye, he could see the dark burn mark the contact with her flesh had made on his leg. Though he felt no pain from it. She brought her finger up to her lips and shushed him. Leonardo's throat worked and his words fell away to soft, shallow breathing. His mouth dropped open as she slid her hand towards his body. Her golden eyes bore into his as she explored him; round black pupils that shrunk to slits, cat-like, as she grinned. Her fingertips petted along the vertical divide of his lower plastron. Leo's heart began to pound uncomfortably hard. He shamefully rolled his hips forward slightly as her fingers drifted lower even as he slightly shook his head jerkily left and right. Her grin spread further; looking feral and hungry as found what she was looking for; stroking the very tip of him gently. He jumped and hissed in a breath with the contact, but she kept him pinned with her right hand. Leonardo's breath started to come in hitched heavy panting as his body reacted to the caressing.

"_Ahh_ . . . S-Stop," he pleaded half-heartedly, his eyes drooping partially closed.

The Mistress gave him a look that said she knew what he really wanted. "Leonardo, my brave pet. Do not lie to me. Not to me. We both know what you long for. What you dream of?" Her laughter bounced softly all around the room, surrounding him.

She lowered her head and Leo's rigid body contracted forward as he choked and gasped at the intensity of the sensation. His fingers dug into the cushion and armrest of the couch and his toes dug into the rug beneath his feet. He couldn't bear the stampeding rush of pleasure that sent him reeling to the very edge of control in a matter of seconds. There was nothing else. Nothing else but what he was feeling right then. He was lost in a torrential swirling cyclone of need and desire and all of it suddenly reduced and shrank to a heart-stopping, constricting, painful burst of hot release. His back arched as his body bucked. His head was thrown back against the back of the couch. Then he felt her teeth sink into the tender flesh and his pleasure instantly turned to bright agony. His fist tightened in her hair as she ripped into him deeply, tearing at him. He clamped his eyes shut and shrieked.

He pitched forward and rolled in a tumbling heap off the couch. His face smacked the edge of the coffee table. Blood filled his mouth as he winced and groaned. Blinking, he held his mouth and gazed around the lair with wary, frayed nerves. He was alone. A dream? But it was so real. He glanced down and sighed in relief at his trembling, but intact organ and with a roll of his stomach muscles and a soft grunt, he was concealed once more. He groaned again as the throbbing pain coursed through his head. He swore under his breath and checked his palm. It came away from his lips bloody. His tongue poked tentatively at the wide gash in the corner of his bottom lip. He flinched and climbed to his feet; rubbing his aching chin and mouth; head pounding.

His eyes happened to glance down as he moved towards the kitchen to rinse his mouth out. He froze in his tracks as his vision scanned the couch. With a hand that trembled slightly, he reached out and gingerly touched the red stain on the arm rest. Wet. Red. Was it paint? No. _Blood_. He stiffened. There was more on the cushion. It couldn't have been from his accident when he rolled off the couch. No way was that possible. It was more like he'd bled . . . He brought his wrists up, eyeing the faded scars from the Mistress' minion's bites. When they had torn into his flesh on the roof of the club, draining the blood from his veins like a twisted vampire movie come true. The skin remained unbroken. The scars were raised and slightly lighter than the rest of his skin. To make doubly sure, he prodded one with his finger. The wound remained as it was: whole and intact.

"Then where . . ." He blinked and frowned in confusion.

His ears caught a sound from Master Splinter's room. Leo spun on his heel. He swallowed back the blood and ignored how his stomach lurched as he crossed the room. The noise came again, this time more clearly. It was a strained cry, breathless and with an edge of what sounded like pain. He only hesitated for a second before he slid the door open to Splinter's bedroom.

He stepped inside, bracing himself to find Splinter raving, "Father, what is it?" He froze, eyes growing wide in disbelief as the scene before him came into focus.

Splinter was there, reclining with his back to the door in the center of a pile of large cushions. His head was thrown back, eyes closed in apparent pleasure and a woman with long black hair coursing over her shoulders was perched on his lap. She rose up and down with the rhythm of his father's bucking hips and was facing the door. Her fingers entwined in Splinter's fur near his ears, an open silk robe hung loosely over her white, bare shoulders, revealing the soft curves of her breasts and dark nipples. Both of them were dripping in sweat. The thick scent of sex hung in the air with a drowsy malaise.

The woman's mouth hung open as she panted. Her eye brow perked up as her eyes fell on Leonardo, standing in shock with a nearly comical expression drawn on his face; unable to tear his glassy eyes away, face deeply reddened. With her eyes locked on him, she licked her lips. Leo swallowed and fell back one step; his face burning; feeling so wrong for standing there on his watery legs but unable to move. Locked in as a spectator to an out-of-control blaze. She then leaned down and whispered something in Splinter's ear.

"S-Sensei," Leo breathed. He took a step forward, but stopped, still unable to process what he was witnessing, unable to decide if he should stop this or run from the room and wash his eyes with a bleach solution.

The woman abruptly vanished in a cloud of wispy tendrils that Splinter frantically grasped at. The room filled with the echo of familiar laughter. The sound sent a wave of goose-bumps riding over Leonardo's flesh. He knew that laughter. The Mistress. It wasn't a dream. She was _here_. Somehow. With Splinter, his _father_. _Oh, god._ He felt sick and pressed a hand over his gaping mouth as his stomach roiled.

"Tang Shen!" Master Splinter cried desperately as he sat up. "Tang _Shen_!" He stared at the empty space in front of him. Then twisted around. His furious glare struck Leo like a physical blow. His amber eyes flashed as they narrowed. Leo stepped back again, unsure as his stomach fluttered with fear.

_"You! Akuma! _What have you_ done with her?!" _He snarled and leaped to his feet.

* * *

**A/N: **Akuma = Demon

I'm thinking maybe of raising the rating to 'M' just to be safe. What do you think? And what do you think of this chapter?

I was feeling like maybe there wasn't a whole lot of interest in this part 2 and even considered putting it on hold,(something I NEVER do with my stories) but thanks to KUNOICHI98 and her lovely pushing and support over at Deviantart - I have decided to plunge ONWARD! XD So, please review, it really keeps me going if I know people wanna see what happens and are engaged in the story. It really does motivate me. I'm here to please you, you know! :D And to my sweet readers who do review...I HUG YOU MASSIVELY and send virtual cookies or for the pirate-ly-inclined: rum! or BOTH! Whatever you like! mmm rum...rum cookies...okay, rambling. sorry.

Oh man, and I do have some nefarious plans...maybe I should raise the rating...Check out my deviantart page for a pretty cool picture of The Mistress with two of our boys in her clutches...it was supposed to be Leo and someone else, but now, I have a different idea that I'm running with. mwhahahah


	5. Ch 5 - Trouble

_'And when your fears subside  
and shadows still remain -_

_I know that you can love me  
When there's no one left to blame . . .' -November Rain_, by Guns N' Roses

* * *

**Chapter 5 – Trouble**

* * *

Raph stayed well within the confines of the stacked train cars. Their shadows gave him enough cover as he crouched, still holding Deborah. A shiver ran down his spine as he felt her fingers brush along the surface of his plastron covering his chest. He blinked rapidly, trying to ignore the inviting softness and heat of her body where it pressed tightly against him. He gave her a quick glance and saw her studying the slightly mottled texture of his chest plate. He swallowed dryly and looked once more for any sign of people in the vicinity. The empty train cars gave them more than enough cover. But the train yard stood across from their destination.

A two-story motel on the edge of a highway over-pass, nestled just outside of an industrial park and a rundown neighborhood filled mostly with abandoned apartment buildings and empty factories. In the distance a train whistle cried out and a crow flew overhead; cawing loudly; three more followed. He felt her jump at the raw sound of the hoarse calls. He twisted his face to her fully.

Her eyes were glued to the passing birds. Her lips were moving, saying something quietly to herself, "One crow . . . sorrow."

"You okay?" he asked in a low voice.

"Four's a . . . boy."

Her gaze met his. Their eyes locked. She looked a little dazed and her eyes were glazed and yet oddly bright. There was something else in her eye that caught his attention and held it prisoner. If he didn't know better, it looked almost . . . hungry. He swallowed reflexively. His thoughts scattered. He knew he was about to ask her something. But it took flight with the sudden heavy awareness of the proximity of her lips to his mouth.

"Uh . . ." he said brilliantly. He suddenly remembered that he was going to inquire about the wound at her neck and if she was still feeling woozy, but she started to speak, cutting him off.

"Gettin' tired of lugging my fat ass around?" Deborah asked flatly and the oddly tense moment between them was destroyed.

Raph frowned, unsure how to reply. On one hand he wanted to tell her that she wasn't heavy at all, on the other hand he was slightly offended at the notion that she thought he was tired after running a few blocks. He settled for pressing his mouth into a tight line. Deborah moved her fingers from her still bleeding wound. She grimaced and shifted in his arms.

"Why don't you put me down now? If I need a lift, I'll be sure to ask."

Raph set her down and stood by awkwardly. Deborah raised her eyebrows. With the hand wrapped around the neck of the whiskey bottle, she raised her pointer finger and poked him in the arm. He blinked at her. _ What was that for?_ She indicated the motel they were scoping out. _Right. The motel._ Raph did a double take, finding it hard to pull away from her gaze, but managed to somehow. His attention was caught by the door to room 202 opening. He tensed.

"That's us."

A short, heavy-set woman stepped out onto the concrete balcony. She was curvy and not unattractive. She straightened her blouse and was brushing a long strand of curly hair from her cheek when Raph's friend filled the doorway; towering over the petite woman. Wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of ragged looking jeans, he raised on arm up over his head and leaned on the door frame. He smiled at the dark-skinned woman and said something to her that made her laugh and swat at him. Then, fixing a pin in her hair, she turned away and headed towards the metal stairs leading down to ground level.

Raph's green eyes watched her as she crossed the nearly deserted, cracked blacktop and entered the office where a neon sign blinked and sputtered. His gaze moved back to his buddy as the man stepped out into the humid air. He braced his hands along the small of his back and leaned back then twisted from side to side. He glanced left and right and then from his back pocket produced a pack of cigarettes. He tapped the pack onto the back of one hand until a stick rose up which he grasped between his lips. It hung limply as he searched his front pockets of his jeans for something. Then from his other back pocket, he produced a lighter. Raph smirked. The ass told him he'd quit. He have to remind him of his promise later with a hearty smack to the side of his head.

Slipping out of the shadows, Raph booked his way around to the side of the building. Deborah followed like a shadow, glued to his every move. Her legs felt watery and weak, but she didn't want to appear the helpless damsel in distress any longer and did her best to seem fine. Little lights and bubbles of pain danced in front of her vision with each step she took. But that might have been from the amount of whiskey pooling in the bottom of her stomach. Raph looked around and satisfied that there was no one to spot him, he grabbed Deborah's hand and led her up the stairs as swiftly as he could.

The man had turned to reenter the motel room when he stiffened. His eyebrows shot up at seeing Raph and his eyes grew round with shock as they fell on the woman behind his green buddy. His face darted around and he stepped aside as he ushered the pair into his room. The cigarette tumbled from his mouth and he stomped on it with his sock clad toe. Still looking frantically around, he backed into the room and slammed the door shut; peering one last time through the curtains. Just to be sure. He spun around.

"Raph, what the hell are you doin'?" he hissed.

Now that they were closer, Raph could see that his friend was a battered mess. No wonder he was holed up here. His right eye was swollen and black. A wide bruise painted the side of his forehead in blues and green. His bare arms were wrapped in bandages; one from the elbow up the other in wide swatches around his forearm.

"What the hell happened to you?" he asked, ignoring his question and watched his friend's vision snap to the woman behind him. Raph twisted in time to see Deborah take another gulp from the bottle. Raph snatched it out of her hand.

"Hey!"

"Dragons. Robbing Bergman's jewelry shop. _Again_. Asshole caught me with a pipe," Casey said absentmindedly, eyes still locked on Deborah. "Paid him back in spades with Betsy."

Raph snorted and shook his head. Only Casey Jones would name his bat. The guy was crazy as hell, but Raph had grown to like him. A lot. He was the only friend Raph had ever made outside of his family. And in the short time that he'd known him, Raph came to trust him with his life. The guy had saved it enough times to earn that trust.

"You gonna introduce me to your friend here, buddy?" Casey nudged Raph with his elbow as he bounced forward slightly on the balls of his feet.

Raph blinked then used the tip of his tongue to moisten his bottom lip. "Ah, Casey, this is, uh, Deborah. Deborah, Casey." Raph gestured with his hands; feeling awkward and suddenly nervous. He was not expecting to find his friend here. He thought their safe room would be empty. He rubbed the back of his neck. Then his face snapped up as he remembered why he brought Deborah here in the first place. "First aid?"

"Wha'?" Casey asked, still staring at Deborah. "Oh, uh, you know. Bathroom. All the stuff's in there."

Deborah shrugged off her jacket and tossed it onto a battered chair in the corner as Raph hurried around her towards the bathroom. She blinked slowly feeling the effects of the alcohol making her head a little dizzy but in a pleasant sort of way and as Raph disappeared from her sight, she suddenly missing being held in his arms. He had a comforting effect on her and she had forgotten how good it felt to be close to him. That's why she had searched him out, after all. So, she hadn't forgotten . . . not completely. She smiled. It was good to be in his presence again. Really good. A surge of gnawing guilt hit her and she pushed it away angrily. Every time she had a glimpse of something feeling close to happiness, this happened. Like part of her mind was angry at her for finding a modicum of peace while her brother was gone. She was sick of it. Sick of chasing her vengeance, sick of feeling angry and sad. She just wanted to be at peace for a little while. Was it too much to ask for in this miserable life?

One hand pressed into the side of her neck as she pulled at the hem of her shirt and grimaced. The blood would never come out. She'd have to toss it or burn it or something. She internally cursed. Why did she have to sneak up on him? What the hell was she thinking? How would she explain her wounded neck to Saki tomorrow night? _Dammit_. Weakly, she sat on the edge of the rumpled bed. She dropped her forehead into one palm and cracked her eyes open. She glanced down to the floor to see a pile of clothes scattered about along with several condom wrappers. Her eyebrows shot up as she raised her head. A knowing half-smile spread over her face and her eyes jumped up to catch Casey silently, but intensely watching her. His gaze fell to the mess around her and suddenly his stubble-covered cheeks turned a deep red.

"Oh, uh. Wasn't expectin' guests," he muttered. He dashed across the room and stooped as he gathered up the clothes and wrappers; tucking them deeply into the pile in his arms. "Uh, Deborah, so, uh, um, how do you know Raph?" he asked hastily as he strode across the room and dumped the entire pile into a narrow closet that appeared to already have been filled with other items including a large golf bag filled with a collection of sports equipment that did not match: baseball bats, golf clubs, lacrosse and hockey sticks.

"We fought." She shrugged, feeling woozy.

Casey nodded in understanding, a frown on his face. His eyes raked over the blood-soaked material of her shirt. The wound at her neck was swelling and turning a nasty purple shade. That, her pale features and the clotting blood gave her the look of a zombie attack victim. He winced. _Damn_. He never thought Raph would beat on a lady. Something wasn't fitting in this picture.

"Yeah, same here. Sort of a pattern with the guy."

He remembered the massive fight he'd gotten into with the turtle upon first meeting him. Of course, he remembered it as being a case of self-defense and not the fact that he'd just tried to stop Casey from beating in the skull of a mugger. He had every reason to get pissed and defend himself against the mutant that day. It wasn't his fault the guy had a hair-trigger temper. He adjusted his stance.

"But uh, unless you're in the vigilante business . . .?" He opened his palm and shook his head before quickly refolding his arms. "No. 'Course not. But uh, my point is . . . uh, why?"

"Hm?" she was barely following his nearly incoherent line of thought.

"Why did you fight with him? I'd think the guy was more into uh, rescuing, than uh, fighting. That is with g-girls, er, women. A woman. You. You're a woman."

She nodded, understanding, and pointed to herself. "Foot. I'm a Foot."

Casey was completely lost now. "No, y-you're a woman. I mean, you have feet, sure." Then to himself as he rubbed the side of his head, scratching at his hair, he mumbled as he looked over his shoulder towards the bathroom where his friend had gone, "Christ, how hard did he hit cha?"

Raph reemerged, a stack of first aid supplies in his arms. He dumped them over the mattress. Then stood back. He considered where everything was. He shook his head.

"On second thought, maybe you'd better sit in the kitchen," he shot a look at Casey. The man blinked at him. "It'll probably be more, uh, sanitary in there."

Deborah smiled as Casey looked a mix of shocked and hurt. She stood up and swayed. Raph moved to steady her. Her hands lightly fell on his forearms. They looked at each other briefly before Raph pulled away. For a second, Raph thought he saw something like disappointment cross her features. He had to be imagining things. Deborah twisted. She grabbed a few bandages and disinfectant and headed for the bathroom.

Her stained fingertips fluttered at her throat and face, "I think I can clean this up myself," she muttered. A shower would help. Maybe clear her head a little. Then again, she didn't really want her mind clear right now.

"A-Are you sure?"

She paused mid-step and shot him a sidelong look. Unable to help herself, she said, "I don't think there's room for two in the shower." She kept her eyes locked on him and bit the inside of her cheek as she watched the show. Raph's eyes widened. His face turned several shades of pink and red until it settled on one tone: a deep crimson. Casey's head bounced back and forth looking from Deborah to Raph and Deborah again. He scratched the top of his head and puckered his lips as he gazed up at the ceiling.

Raphael stammered nonsensically and rubbed the back of his neck until mercifully, Deborah raised one hand to quiet him and turned and exited the room without another word. He blew out a breath as eyes dropped to the carpeting. The bathroom door snapped shut and the lock was turned. Only then did Raph remember that he'd left the bottle of booze in there.

"Shit," he murmured. He didn't exactly know why, but he didn't want her drinking. Casey was suddenly next to him; hovering an inch away.

"Okay, spill. And don't leave anything out. Not one detail."

Raph sighed. "You got anythin' to eat around here? I didn't have breakfast." He moved towards the kitchen and Casey dashed in front of him.

"You wanna eat? You gotta give."

He crossed his arms as he stood in front of the fridge. Raph had only known Casey for a little over six months. He enjoyed his company most of the time. Now was not one of those times. He shoved the man to one side with his elbow. It only took a fraction of his strength to knock Casey aside.

His friend tried a different route, "C'mon, Raph. You can't come here and expect me to just let some strange woman into our place."

Raph leaned into the fridge, one hand braced along the top of the door. He glared up over the door and raised an eyebrow. He huffed. "Oh, is that so?"

"Yeah, man," Casey went on, running with it. He really wanted to know the story here. And his green friend was not usually one to be inclined to talk without some kind of encouragement. "This is our heal-up spot, remember. For when we get too messed up to head back home. Or, uh, don't want no one askin' uncomfortable questions."

Raph cocked an eyebrow at him then continued to ransack the near-empty refrigerator. Casey was two years older than him: nineteen, almost twenty. He dropped out of high school after having a lot of issues and lived with an unemployed father who was prone to drinking and getting out of hand. The last thing he needed was to be beaten on after being beaten by a group of gang members or thugs. So, Raph had come up with the idea of splitting the payment on this roach infested hovel. Though thinking back on it, he wished they could've afforded a place with fewer roaches. If either of them were hurt really badly, they could call and the other would come to help patch the wounds and set broken bones. The mutual arrangement based on complete trust and dependability was working well, for both of them.

Casey went on, whining at this point, "No one is supposed to know about it, remember? Especially no chicks."

Raph grabbed a bag of fried chicken and a soda. He straightened up and slammed the fridge door closed.

"I don't remember that being a stipulation," Raph replied dryly.

From the other room, the sound of the shower sputtering to life distracted them. Both males paused for a moment; considering the fact the sound of the shower presented. After a fraction of a second, they exchanged a look then both caught themselves and clearing their throats, banishing whatever each of them had envisioned in the moment, settled onto the metal chairs that surrounded the small café table in the kitchen. Raph threw the bag of chicken down on top of it as he sat.

"And what about that, uh workin' girl, I saw leaving here, huh?"

Casey sat back, looking like the quintessential kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He tried a look of shocked innocence, but failed miserably. He leaned forward in his chair. "I'll have you know that she is not a working girl," he hissed, pointing at the table as Raph smirked. "That was LaKeesha and she and her uncle happens to own the place."

Raph pulled a chicken breast from the bottom of the greasy bag, examined it and turned it over in his fingers before taking a large bite from it. He bobbed his head, still smirking. Raph snickered and rolled his eyes, "I get it," he said with his mouth full.

"I highly doubt that you do."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Raph asked, frowning; feeling sure that there was an insult hidden in that last statement but not entirely sure he understood what his friend was hinting at.

"Nothin'." Casey crossed his arms and looked away, one knee bouncing in aggravation. "Don't judge me, bro. You haven't been paying up, so," he fidgeted in his seat, "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. Let's just leave it at that."

"So, you're pimpin' your services ta stay here," Raph said and nearly choked on the food in his mouth as he started to laugh.

Casey scowled at him. Raph knew about the sensitive situation he had at home. He'd confided everything to Raph as they grew closer. No one listened as well as the turtle. He was Casey's best friend, though the man never admitted it unless thoroughly drunk, and both males agreed to never mention that evening on the Brooklyn Bridge, ever again. And if Raph would just come up with the rent like he was supposed to be doing – Casey wouldn't be in the circumstance he was currently in.

"Fuck you." His scowl turned into a devilish grin despite himself.

"No thanks. I might catch somethin'," Raph snarked.

"Asshole!" With that Casey jumped up. He moved to leave but then stopped. He spun around. He pointed a finger at Raph and raised and lowered it. "Aha! I got what you just did there. You're tryin' ta piss me off so you don't have ta tell me about this chick you've brought here. Well, you can't insult me that easily. I got a thick skin."

"Yeah and a head to match."

Casey only stood his ground. The mirth in Raphael's expression vanished. He grew serious and stared at the remains of the chicken in his hand. He tossed it down, rubbed his greasy fingers on the bag and then drank the soda until he drained the can. He crunched it and threw it to the side. It hit the wall and landed into the garbage can near the counter. Raph rubbed between his bottom lip and chin then finally raised his eyes up to meet Casey's. The man was looking triumphant as he stood stubbornly with his arms crossed over his chest. Raphael sighed in irritation. Today was not his day for catching a break. Couldn't Casey just leave it?

"That's the one, isn't it," Casey said knowingly with a look over his shoulder towards the bathroom.

"What?"

"The one. The girl." Casey snapped his fingers. A smile spread across his face. "I knew it."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I wasn't sure at first. Thinkin'," he paused. He stared at Raph who was scowling up at him for a moment before he blundered onward, "Well, can ya blame me? I mean lookit you." Raph opened his mouth full of a profanity-filled retort, but Casey rambled on, "But something in the back of my mind kept eatin' at me. No one could be that pissed all the time without a reason. And what better reason than that. Man, same ole story -"

Casey shook his head. Raph blinked completely baffled. Casey went on undeterred by his friend's blank look, "I told myself, Case, man, that guy's broken up about a _girl_." Casey pointed to the side of his head as he lowered himself back down to sit across from Raph. "I was doubtful, sure. But all the signs were there, right in front of me. Man, I _knew_ it." He narrowed his eyes and nodded at Raph. "I knew it."

Raph fidgeted in his seat. He looked around the room, unable to meet his friend's knowing gaze. Finally, he did and was sorry for it. Casey was grinning like an ape with a banana. His dark blue eyes sparkling in glee.

"_So_," Raph barked.

"So, ya gotta _tell_ me."

Raph crossed his arms. He sighed through his nose, hard. "I-I met 'er last year. She . . . She helped get me outta a scrape with the Foot."

"The Foot? You mean those ninja guys?" _Didn't Deborah say something about her foot? Or being a foot._ Casey shook his head. No. That made no sense at all. Why would Raph go for a chick in the enemies ranks? He'd never be _that_ stupid.

Raph nodded. "But . . . then I . . . I – she . . ." he struggled for a minute then dropped whatever he was going to add. The memory of the night he confessed his heart to her and the look of pity she gave him stole away his momentum. He pressed his mouth into a tight line.

"It's nothin'," he finally admitted with a slight shake of his head. He turned to look away and muttered again, "Nothin'."

"Yeah, right," Casey laughed out the words. "Nothin'. Nothin' but _trouble_." His smile faded and was replaced with a sober look as he considered how uncomfortable and hurt Raph seemed. "Look, man. In all honesty, do you want me ta . . ." he shrugged and nodded, "ta go? Oh, man. Were ya . . . I dunno, _hoping_ this place was empty? Is that why . . . why you brought her . . . so, ah, you know . . . Wait, do turtles even . . . can they . . . uh, um . . . I don't know how this all works with you guys and, uh, women." Casey glanced sideways and shifted uncomfortably, thinking he should've stopped a few sentences back.

Raph's face snapped up, looking mortified, his stumbling words came rushing out, "What? No. _No!_ Christ! What are you . . . I-I needed some first aid. That's all!"

Casey frowned, considering Raph carefully, "So, do ya _want_ me ta leave or . . . do you need me ta stick _around_?"

"Do whatever the hell you want!" Raph snapped. His face was burning to a point of being painful. His heart was pounding and he felt anxious and didn't know why. But he really wished his friend would shut the hell up already.

Casey placed his palm on the table. "Okay," he said. He got up to go and the sound of the shower handles squeaking as they were turned off reached them. Casey glanced over his shoulder. "Raph, just."

Irritated beyond belief, Raph barked, "_What?!"_

"Just watch yerself, okay? Women can be tricky."

Raph huffed and shook his head. "Whatever." He rubbed his forehead with his finger and thumb furiously. He had no idea what his friend was talking about and it was getting annoying. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Casey leave. A moment later the door of the motel room opened and shut. Raph sat there, mind racing. He stared at the bag of leftover chicken on the table in front of him. He wondered if Deborah was hungry.

He stood up and started rummaging around for something like a plate. He slammed open and closed several cabinet doors until he found a stack of paper plates and took one out. Trying to calm his boiling anger, he grabbed the bag and opened the top. He poked around and pulled a leg out. He dropped it back inside with a disgusted grimace as he realized that Casey had bitten it and put it back inside the bag.

"Gah, what a slob," he muttered.

He was just reconsidering feeding Deborah anything from the contaminated sack when the door to the bathroom opened. His head whipped around and he dropped the bag onto the floor. Deborah stood at the threshold of the kitchen. A towel wrapped around her head, a large bandage around her neck and a towel wrapped around her body. It barely made it past her hips and was making a valiant attempt at covering half of her breasts. Raphael's mouth hung open as his eyes devoured the sight before him. Tendrils of water slid along the smooth, dewy surface of her skin and Raph found himself following their trajectory as they trailed along the curving mound of flesh. He lost feeling in his all of his lower extremities . . . all except in one area. And that was a throbbing distraction that he really did not need to deal with at the moment. He snapped his mouth shut and stood rigidly with his arms at his sides and shoulders up; all his focus locked on remaining in control of himself. The last thing he needed was to scare the crap outta her by losing control like a freakin' animal. He needed to say something. Or stop staring or both. He couldn't keep standing there staring like a demented moron. He dropped his face and stared at his toes. Better. Much better.

"Oo, is there chicken?" she asked and took a long swig from the bottle. Using the back of her free hand she wiped her chin and looked expectantly at Raph, then her gaze dropped to the bottle. "Oh. Here." Then she held the bottle out to him.

He did a double take, then with his eyes still locked on his toes, he hastily grabbed it and moved around to the side as she stepped forward. Clamping his eyes closed tightly he took a long draught. His adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed back the alcohol. He'd had beer before on many occasions, mostly in the company of Casey as a celebratory ritual after a night spent busting heads and not getting caught by the authorities or by Raph's personal authority figure: Leonardo. But he'd never had hard liquor. And much like when Deborah stepped into the room, he wasn't prepared for the kick to his system. The fiery liquid set his throat on fire, bringing tears to his eyes. It took all his self-control not to start choking. Instead he made little coughing noises while his cheeks puffed out and his lips stayed closed.

Deborah stepped around him and stooped to grab the bag of chicken. Raph's eyes widened at the view this position afforded him and he quickly took another gulp of the whiskey. This time it went down a little smoother. It still burnt like hell, but it was better. His heart was thrumming against his ribs and his head felt light and heavily clouded at the same time and Raph wasn't sure if it was the alcohol affecting him already or just the sumptuous sight before him.

_Oh, shit. Oh shit, _was all he could think and for some reason Casey's words came back to him, '_Yeah, right. Nothin' but trouble.'_

Deborah straightened up and to Raphael's disgust, had the chicken leg that bore Casey's teeth mark hanging from her mouth. He'd never felt so turned on and so horrified before in his life. He took another swig from the bottle. As she moved into the living room, he opened his mouth to warn her about the chicken but only looked helplessly on as she made short work of the offending piece. Too late.

"Oh god," he gulped and took another drink to force the bile that rose up in the back of his throat back down.

Deborah grabbed the bunched blankets and sheets and straightened them up over the mattress. She stooped and threw the scattered pillows along the back of the bed. She climbed on and Raphael shot his face to the wall, determined to see nothing but the peeling wall paper, yellowed with age. When he thought it was safe to do so, he moved his face a fraction of an inch to see her reclining on the narrow bed, bare legs crossed, bag of chicken next to her and the remote in her hand. With her free hand she patted the narrow place next to her, invitingly. Raph blinked and moved through the room with rubbery legs. He sat heavily onto the chair parallel to the bed. Deborah looked at him for a moment and then with a sigh, she quickly rolled to one side and off the bed. The towel covering her hair fell to the floor.

She moved around the foot of the bed and before Raph could protest or stop her, she climbed onto his lap; snuggling her cheek against one shoulder as her arm went around the back of his neck. Her knees were bent as her legs leaned against his body. The cool feel of her bare skin against his along with the sensation of the wet tendrils of hair falling against his shoulder and arm stole the breath from his lungs. She pointed the remote at the television and clicked it on.

"Wh-What're you doing?" Raph choked out, barely able to hear himself speak over the stampeding of his pulse in his ears.

"I just want this, okay?"

"Okay," he replied instantly not having a clue as to what she meant. Hoping she meant what he hoped she meant, knowing there was no way she meant what he hoped. But willing to give her whatever she wanted in that moment. Fairly sure that if she asked him to open a vein to make her happy he would have done it with gusto to please her. He was a fool. She didn't want him. And yet . . . and yet . . . why? Why was she doing this? Didn't she know what this was doing to him? Didn't she care?

His mind raced and spun. His heart galloped and his control nearly slipped from him as the scent of her skin filled his senses. With a fear like electricity igniting his system, he slowly lowered his mouth to the top of her head. With the barest, feather-like touch, he pressed his lips down and nuzzled gingerly into the dampness of her hair. His body was frozen, encased in iced immobility and at the same time, burning to ash from the inside out. If only he knew what she wanted from him. He would give her whatever she wanted. If she would only . . . even _consider_ . . . _possibly_ . . .

"Deborah," he murmured, his voice slightly slurred and his head swimming from the whiskey.

"Shh," she said and tuned up the sound on the television.

Raphael closed his eyes against the pain and listened to the thrumming of his heart in his ears and breathed in the scent of the woman he was desperately in love with; knowing she didn't love him, would never love a freak like him, but not caring. He'd take what he could get. And right now was the closest to heaven he'd ever been.

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**A/N:**

Casey is really so much fun to write. I loved his conversation scenes with Deborah and with Raph. Especially the little bro-love moment I alluded to with the Brooklyn Bridge remark. heehee Following the first story, Raph's brothers haven't met Casey and he doesn't know April in this story. Poor Raphael. I really liked that piece of song I put at the opening of this to describe where Raph and Deborah are at this point.

Mikey-heavy chapter is next! Eeeee! Please review! Thank you so much it really keeps me motivated!


	6. Ch 6 - Swoon of Sin

**A/N:** Hot stuff below. But since I upped the rating, consider this your last warning of smoldering conditions below. We're running with it now, boys and girls. Grip tightly to those bottoms!

* * *

"Her lips touched his brain as they touched his lips, as though they were a vehicle of some vague speech and between them he felt an unknown and timid pressure, darker than the swoon of sin, softer than sound or odor." - James Joyce

* * *

**Chapter 6 – Swoon of Sin**

* * *

The skateboard's wheels wobbled and rolled; clattering with a rumbling cheerful noise as Mikey sped down the system of dry interconnected tunnels that he frequented when wanting a little space from the family. If only his spirits matched the sound. With dance music pumping the mindless beat directly from the ear buds into his ears, he kicked along the ground, pushing the board forward faster and faster. He was beginning to loosen up; feeling the weight of his father's illness and the fighting between his brothers to drop away into the background. Where it belonged, where it was easier to ignore. To pretend that everything was okay at home. He leaned his weight as he went, rolling up the sides of the bricks and once he kicked it out from under him; the board spun and he caught it with his ankles before righting it and balancing once more on the flat surface. A smile spread over his mouth as the simple joy of moving swiftly through the darkness chased away the nagging distress that he'd left behind.

This was better. No one fighting. No one swearing at each other. No father freaking out and forgetting who he was. It was wonderful.

The board weaved and started to slow as he came to a familiar juncture. He jumped off and tapped the end with his toes, bringing the board up so he caught it with on hand. He tucked it under his arm and stepped to the opening. He popped the ear-buds out from his ears and stuck them into his belt after he rolled up the cord into a tight bundle.

The end of the tunnel opened up to a dead end; slightly curved in shape. There were three passageways laid out before him. One directly in front of him was bordered by cracked bricks laced with olive colored moss and black algae. It led to the damp, muddy tunnels which eventually headed out towards the docks. No good for skateboarding. He shook his head. _ Nope. Not that way._

The tunnel which spanned from left to right gave him pause, but just for a second. To the right, the direction he almost always took, led to a series of dips and turns that were a lot of fun to skate through. There was one drop off that he had to keep an eye out for, but had done the path so many times he had the location down by heart. He hopped down from the slightly raised tunnel behind him and set the skateboard down. He stepped up and gave a little push, once, twice rolling forward before something made him stutter to a halt.

He peered over his shoulder and sniffed. _What the heck?_ Something smelled . . . good. Really good. That in of itself was unusual considering where he was, but he'd never noticed this aroma in this area before. Mikey was knowledgeable of all the tunnels that led off to the chocolate factory and the cupcake manufacturing plant that made his favorite snack treats that came in little round plastic packages with the white curly-q decorating the top of the cupcake. He always peeled that part off first before devouring the remaining decadent chocolate cake part. Mikey rubbed his stomach with the thought. Man, he was making himself hungry just thinking about those things. Master Splinter was strict when it came to sweets which was a bummer, since Mikey practically lived for them. Some people had a sweet-tooth, well, Donnie had joked once that all of Mikey's teeth were sweet. It was part of his genetic mutation, in fact.

Curious as to what could be causing such a lovely aroma to waft through this part of the abandoned tunnels, Mikey picked up his board and turned down towards the end of the passageway he'd previously always avoided. He moved cautiously, carefully. Smelling good or not, he knew to be careful. As he crept through the darkness, it embraced and then enveloped him. Surrounding him like an ethereal presence. He blinked and tried to focus. His night vision was not as good as Leo's; too many videogames his brother would say. But honestly, Don's was no better. Probably from being on the computers all the time. In the near distance, he could see a blurred light. Feeling more than a little nervous, Mikey inched closer.

He didn't recognize any part of this system of tunnels. The ceiling above was low and he only knew this from the occasional pipe that jutted down that he had to duck. He'd never ventured this direction before, always getting the creeps from the pitch black that dwelled within. He knew that being a ninja and being afraid of the dark, well not afraid, but cautious around the dark, was ironic at best. It wasn't really the dark that made him feel uneasy. It was what dwelled within that emptiness that worried him. All the _things_ that might be hiding in the dark. Things that creep and slither and crawl. Things that grab at ankles right as you climb into bed at night. He shivered violently.

"I'm freaking myself out," he whispered under his breath then came to a full stop.

The soft glow illuminated the end of tunnel's brick wall in a pastel yellow and pink halo. Distantly, he thought he heard the beat of some melody. It was a rolling, repeating sound, lulling his senses until he absentmindedly nodded his head along to the rhythm of it. Michelangelo reached out and gingerly fingered the edge of where the tunnel sharply turned to the left where the source of the glow was emanating from. Along the bricks . . . it looked almost like barnacles. Curiosity getting the better of him, he edged closer. No, not barnacles, unless barnacles were made out of peppermint rounds. Mikey blinked and rubbed his eyes. In between the peppermint rounds was what looked like white frosting and . . . jelly beans. The sugary smell filled his nostrils. There was no mistaking what he was smelling; seeing.

"Bizarre," he murmured.

He reached out again and carefully, he picked one jelly bean free; the white stiff material holding it in place flaked away. He stared at it, sitting between finger and thumb. He squeezed it. The harder surface cracked revealing the softer jellied inside. Slowly, he brought it up to his mouth. The tip of his pink tongue poked out and with some hesitation, he pressed a tiny bit against his mouth and then dropped his hand away quickly. He moved his tongue around in his mouth, processing the flavor. Lime. It was definitely lime. He stared at the jelly bean in his hand and dropped it.

"What the hell is this?" he asked aloud and his round eyes traveled up and around the arched entranceway. Candies of every shape and size were glued into the walls and curved ceiling with the white frosting. He swallowed. "Th-This is crazy," he said aloud with a slight giggle. Was he losing his mind? Didn't Don warn him once that too much television would rot his brain? Could it be possible that it finally happened? With a gulp, Mikey decided to explore further.

He turned the corner, keeping his eyes roving along the sweetly lined narrow walls. It was all the same. But the candy grew more varied and unusual. Some he recognized, but others were like out of some picture book. The thought nagged at the edge of his reason. Something about the candy and a picture book. A story about a candy house in the woods. Michelangelo brushed the fractioned thoughts away and concentrated on what he was seeing. Still having trouble accepting any of it.

Under his feet, the floor felt strange; bouncy; almost as if it were made of cake. Ovals of different sizes; glistening green, blue and red with twirling white centers decorated the walls and spiraling iridescent spikes rose up from the floor and hung from the ceiling like confectionary stalactites and stalagmites. The candy shapes gleamed all around him, bathing him and the room in a pale light show of pastel tones. The sugar glittered and sparkled as it fell from the ceiling like snow in the glowing light from the unknown source. The sweet scent was nearly overpowering. He opened his mouth and leaned his head back, tongue out to catch some of the sugar. It was indeed exactly that. Sugar. He smacked his lips and laughed.

A sound like a cooing dove made him freeze. His face darted around the small room. He wasn't alone. Some part of his mind was not surprised; had anticipated that there'd be someone else here with him. Someone dangerous. The skate board fell from under his limp arm in a clatter to the ground. It rolled and skittered across the spongy floor until it stopped, bumping against a wall of bricks that looked like it was made of giant graham crackers. As if someone had come down here and made this part of the tunnels into a giant gingerbread house. Again the uneasy thought of the picture book rose up in the back of his mind, urging him to pay attention to it. Michelangelo brushed it away.

In the center of the small room made of candy and sweets, was a girl. She was nibbling on a cookie bigger than her head. She set it to one side as her gaze fell on him. He stepped deeper into the candied room. Her hair was a white gold and her gauzy, sleeveless dress matched it. Her wide, unusually large eyes, framed with thick black lashes, rose to meet his. They were bright gold.

Mikey gasped and as he blinked the imagery shifted so quickly, as if his vision was blurred only to clear with the blinking movement of his eyelid. He felt a strange sensation in the center of his head. A pulling tug that sent a sharp bolt of pain through his brain. He brought the heel of his hand up to his forehead and pressed. "Ugh, _ow_," he said to himself with a wince. When he dropped his hand away and blinked in the gloaming light, he noticed the girl was gone. In her place was something, no, someone else.

Mikey froze. The breath in his lungs squeezed out in a high pitched wheeze of disbelief. It couldn't be real. There was no way. Was he dreaming? He had to be sleepwalking or something. Slowly, he reached over and pinched the flesh of his forearm, hard. He winced. No, he was wide awake. But it wasn't possible. It was like one of his dreams just decided to stand up and walk out of his mind into reality. A part of him was in full panic mode of being found and seen; it wanted him to bolt, but he found his feet glued to the floor much like the candy stuck in the walls by the thick frosting. He couldn't run if he wanted to. And he found he did not want to. Not at all.

There, in the center of a pile of oversized, velvety cushions now sat a little mutant turtle. Like him. Only he knew it was a girl. Every instinct in him sparked to life as his eyes fell on her, over her, soaking up every inch of her body. Her skin was a soft green like new grass in the spring. Covering her upper arm along the right side from her elbow to her shoulder were markings: yellow swirls and starburst shapes, they continued up the side of her neck to her cheek. On her head was a tiara of sorts. Delicate wires curled and wove in and out, displaying tiny pearls, rubies and a large oval opal in the center of it drew his eyes there. But it didn't hold his attention for long as he moved his gaze back down to her own. Her eyes were framed by heavy lashes and were a bright and deep orange with golden flecks that seemed to sparkle in the glow of the room. They gazed into him, through him and past him.

Michelangelo felt a small tremor go through him and trembled a little. His mind screamed that he needed to run, but his heart was fluttering in his chest like never before and there was no way he'd leave without knowing where she came from, who she was and how she ended up down here, alone. His eyes roved over her body. She wore a see-through white dress that was sleeveless, though the top straps draped over her bare shoulders, revealing her collar bone and just the very top of a pale yellow plastron. The edges of her dress were slightly tattered as if the material was very old. Everything about her was delicate and petite. Just looking at her made Michelangelo feel nervous, excited and . . . frightened. He frowned for half a second and decided to ignore the strange fear that blossomed inside him alongside the intense curiosity and weird yearning he was starting to feel.

His stomach fluttered as she stood up. The flowing hem of her flared dress only came to the very tops of her thighs, exposing her bare legs. The swirling patterning on her arm appeared along the outside of her right leg as well. Mikey felt his gaze flow over the lines of her thighs and calves down to her tiny ankles and feet. She was barely half his size overall.

"Hello. Who are you?" she asked and smiled at him as she folded her three-fingered hands together in front of her. Her voice was light but tinged with an odd accent that rounded her words. The sound was like music to Michelangelo.

"Y-Y-You . . . Y-You're a . . . a . . . a girl," he stammered.

The little turtle mutant nodded. "That's right."

"I-I mean, you're a _girl_, like me!" He pressed his hand to his chest. His wide smile of surprise fell as he frowned, "I mean, _I'm_ not a girl." He straightened up a little taller, "I'm a boy . . . er, a man. A turtle, well, a m-mutant, really. I'm not just a turtle. Turtles can't talk. Or walk upright or skateboard, uh, um . . ." Mikey's stream of rambling stopped suddenly. He blinked. "Wait a minute. Where do you come from? How long have you been down here alone?" Suddenly, he cast around for any danger. Was she a prisoner here? Seeing only the candy covered walls, he relaxed. A new thought struck him. His blue eyes darted around. "Are you . . . are you the only one here?"

Her laughter broke around him, tinkling and falling like fairy dust over his shoulders. The soft, hypnotic rhythm of the melody that he'd heard in the tunnel continued in the background, though Mikey barely registered the sound of it.

"You're funny."

"Heh, I am?" Michelangelo rubbed the back of his neck and suddenly felt too warm. His wide eyes grew even wider. "Oh man, wait 'til I tell my brothers about you! No, better yet - wait until you meet them!" His voice rose with his excitement. He hopped once holding the top of his head. "They are gonna go nuts! I can't believe this! This – This is great!"

Suddenly he raised his head and she was right next to him. In front of him. She only came up to his nose but her close proximity startled him nonetheless. He stumbled backwards and lost his footing as his heel struck a candy spire. He fell on his rump with a grunt. His shell crashed through several glass-like candy stalagmites. He chuckled in spite of himself.

"Whoa! Are you a ninja, too?" he asked as he dusted the shards of broken sugar off his palms.

He moved to sit up when she crouched down. She was very close. Between his legs. She leaned forward. Mikey's mouth snapped shut as his heart jumped into his throat. She smelled like ripe peaches and honey. He felt his mouth water and he swallowed. A rush of mixed emotions flooded his mind and heart. His already too warm body grew even warmer.

"Who are you?" she asked him again and narrowed her eyes as her head tilted a little to one side.

"Y-You mean my n-name? I'm M-Michelangelo, er, Mikey. You can call me Mikey."

She lifted her hand and with one finger she traced a line from his chin down to his throat, when he reflexively swallowed, down to the hollow at his throat and lower to the divided plate of his chest.

"Mikey, I don't want to meet your brothers."

Mikey blinked rapidly. She shook her head and he mimicked the motion. "Wh-Why not?"

"I didn't see you before. You're so . . . perfect. I wish I did," she murmured and it was as if she were speaking to herself. Mikey huffed a soft laugh at her assessment of his perfection. Her orange eyes flicked to his and he froze as she purred, "I want you to be my special friend, okay? Mikey? Only _you_."

Mikey's heart picked up speed. His palms suddenly became clammy.

"Wh-What do you . . . mean?" he asked, the edges of his eyes tightened with a confused frown.

She threw her head back and her laughter was a force that vibrated through his body. The walls of the room shook with it and more glittering sugar fell around them, coating their bodies with the sparkling substance. The tiny, pointed fangs of her incisors glinted. Mikey was trembling while her laughter spilled over him. It slowly eased into a chuckling murmur then morphed into a purring, rumbling sound.

That noise struck something deep within the young turtle. Before he could stop it, a returning rumbling suddenly broke from his throat. It startled him. He'd never made such a sound before. And with it came a warmth that spread through him and a drowsy feeling in his head that made him want to lay down suddenly . . . on top of the girl in front of him. It was more than wanting to, he needed to.

Before he could act on his instincts, a half-smile, wicked and hungry, spread across her face. She lunged forward and pressed her mouth to his. Mikey's eyes snapped shut as his body went rigid and flushed hot and cold and hot again. She pressed him back until his head was buried into the cushions. How they had gotten back to the center of the room, Mikey wasn't sure. But he didn't care. He was being kissed! By a girl! A mutant turtle human girl just like him! Just like that dream he used to have of coming across a girl that was like him and his brothers. Only this was much better because this was real! It was his first kiss and it was real!

His hands fumbled at the cushions next to his body before he hesitantly reached up and gingerly placed them on her back. He felt the petite shell and the diamond pattern through the material of her dress. A powerful jolt of lust went through him as his fingers touched the groves and ripples of her shell. The rumbling churring sound rose up from deep within his chest and throat again. A surging feeling of yearning rushed through him, constricting his stomach even as it fluttered within him.

The kiss turned molten as her tongue swept across his. Sensations, bright and urgent, rippled through his body. His arms tightened around her as his hips bucked, rubbing his bottom half roughly against hers, the hem of her dress lifting; feeling the lower part of her plastron pressing against his; the inviting heat nearly undid him. A whimper carried over the rumbling, churring sound that continued to pour from his throat unabated. Then he froze as his tingling body felt her tail lay flat against his as she straddled his hips and wrapped her legs around and under his calves, molding the bottom halves of their bodies together.

His breath hitched in his throat. His body shuddered and he felt himself tighten and throb uncomfortably between his legs under his plastron, threatening to burst free and into the girl pressed firmly against him. His eyes snapped open. _Oh, no! Oh god, what was he doing?_ He pinched his quivering thighs together tightly, fighting against the strength of her legs keeping them spread; using all his concentration on keeping himself concealed. She finally relented and while she remained perched on top of his hips, her tail was no longer sliding seductively, invitingly against his.

What was happening to him? This wasn't like the movies at all! Not that he'd seen many that involved this intimate of scenes. He'd only caught glimpses of the heated imagery of what seemed to be human women wrestling naked on the computer before Don caught him sneaking around and slammed the laptop closed and screamed at him to get out of his room. He never got to really make out what the heck he was seeing on the flashing screen. What he knew of sex was what his adolescent imagination conjured up from stealthy glimpses at his brother's computer and a few stolen peeks at his other brother's private collection of magazines that he kept under his meditation mat in his room. But fear of Raph discovering him not only in his room but rifling through his stash made his rare visits short lived and rushed. It was all so confusing, and yet, he couldn't get enough of it.

His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she finally broke the kiss and pulled away, looking down at him. The powdery sugar continued to fall in a glittering curtain around them. It was coating them in a white dusting and making his head start to pound with every overly sweet breath he took in. His glassy eyes stared up at her. His breath was heavy and shallow, coming in broken pants. His body felt like it was burning from the inside out and he felt a little sick from the rush of emotions he was feeling.

He'd been turned on before. But he'd never felt anything like this. Nothing this intense. It was like he was going crazy or about to have a heart attack and die or both. The image of ripping the dress off her body kept repeating itself over and over in his mind. He pressed one clammy hand to his forehead. He needed to calm down.

"Uh, um, m-maybe we should slow things d-down a little," he offered weakly. "S-since we just met and all."

Again, she threw her head back and laughed. The sound vibrated through him. Something inside Mikey urged him to flee but the cold tendrils of fear were turned to steam as the heat from his desire extinguished it. She smiled; orange eyes glittering; looking with feral interest down at him, through him; inside of him; sizing him up and considering him like he was a particular choice cut of meat and whether or not he was to her liking. It wasn't a sweet smile, like the one she had given him as he stepped into this weird room; something predatory haunted the edges of it.

He squirmed deeper into the cushion behind him. He didn't know why, but suddenly he felt afraid and ashamed. What would Master Splinter think if he saw him like this? What would Leo say? They'd both be ashamed of him. The voice urging him to flee reemerged with a vengeance in his mind and his heart picked up the pace. Instead of crawling out from under her and making his escape, he laid where he was and said breathlessly in a hoarse voice, "I-I . . . never kissed anyone b-before."

"I know."

His eyes searched hers as he felt her shift slightly. What did she mean, she knew? Was he that bad of a kisser? A fleeting sense of hurt flashed through him. He sucked. He knew it. The only girl mutant turtle in the whole universe thought he was a sucky kisser. Then he felt her hand trail down the front of his body; turning around so that her delicate fingers finally curled under him; slipping into the protective pocket where his most private part of him was currently coiled; throbbing and straining to be freed.

He jumped and gave a small yelp of shock and alarm. His hands went to her shoulders. "Wh-What are you . . ." He closed his eyes as he felt her fingers wrap around him. His body jerked with the contact. With a small movement, she rubbed against him, stroking him, sliding him slowly free. His mouth gaped. He couldn't take it, the restrictive confines of his body became painful and couldn't hold back the rush of his stiffening body. Something was happening . . . heat rushed through him, converging to a painful point - he needed to . . . to -

_"No!" _he gasped in a panic. Using all his strength, he pushed her off him with both hands and rolled to his side, free of the cushions. Body shuddering, he knelt with his back to her, covering himself with both shivering hands and forearms. This was wrong! This was bad! He didn't even know her! What was he thinking? Shame made his face burn furiously. He glanced over his shoulder at her with wide startled eyes.

"Oh gosh, Oh god. I-I'm s-sorry. B-But . . . I don't . . . I can't . . . we shouldn't . . . M-My father -"

He didn't know what the heck he was trying to say but something screamed in his mind that there was danger here. He just didn't know where. His mind was a scattered mess. He only understood that he'd come perilously close to losing control and something nearly happened with his body that he should not be doing with this stranger. Mutant turtle girl or not. Of course, his traitorous body was furious that he broke the contact with her warm silky form molding against him with her scent of honeyed peaches and long silky tail . . .

Mikey shook his head trying to clear it. A deeper, survival instinct was blaring that he was in danger. On shaking legs, he stood up; keeping his shell to her; still unable to get his rigid body under control and calmed enough to tuck it back into place. This was mortifying. He really hoped she didn't think he was a pervert or a freak or molester or something.

"Where are you going?" she asked, the disappointment clear in her voice. A rush of feelings went through him; he was glad that she wanted him to stay, but terrified of what might happen if he didn't leave, right now.

"Uh, I-I think I should . . . uh, um, go."

"Wait."

He stopped instantly at her command. He shut his eyes tightly, shoulders hunched in shame. In his mind he pleaded that she remained where she was: behind him, where she couldn't see anything.

"Did you _like_ it?"

His wide eyes glanced over his shoulder, "Wh-What? _N-No_. I mean, _yes_! Uh, um. I'm sorry. I really have to go!"

"Aw, you're perfect."

The taunting note in her laughter made his heart flutter and his stomach clench with unease. It was as if she were laughing at him for some reason. He stiffened as he felt her arms encircle him from behind. She rested her cheek against the side of his shoulder.

"Don't tell them about me. Not yet. Okay, Mikey?"

He nodded mutely. His mind blanked and then focused only on the press of her body against his shell. Her hands slid down, caressing his trembling form and stopping only when they reached the back of his hands, still protectively covering his masculinity. He jumped as her fingers traced the tendons along the back of his hands. His breath caught in his throat and he made a strangled noise that may have been, _stop_.

"Will you come back and play with me tomorrow? Or better, yet, maybe I'll come find you. Tonight?"

He could barely move, but gave a brief, broken nod. Whatever she wanted. He'd do it. He just really wanted to get away right then. It was starting to get uncomfortable to breathe let alone think. He needed to clear his mind. And he couldn't do that here in this room where the sugar was starting to coat his mouth thickly, choking him and making his head throb and hurt. She released him.

He staggered forward, stooped to grab his skateboard and ran into the passageway then down the tunnel as fast as he could. Giddy with the rush of a small animal escaping the claws of a predatory bird, he ran and ran until his lungs burned and his pumping legs felt rubbery and weak. The air, though dank and musty, was a relief from the overpowering confection drifting through the air of the girl's lair. The sugar that had dusted his skin melted into a sticky coating as it dissolved into his sweat.

After running for what seemed an hour, he dropped his skateboard and slid his shell along the rough bricks until he was sitting, knees up in one corner of a familiar stretch of tunnels. His body was chilled from sweating. He shivered. His heart was stampeding inside of him and his entire body was soaked with his sticky sweat. He couldn't stop shaking. What the hell was that all about? He panted heavily in the darkness of the isolated tunnel. Was any of it actually real? Did he hallucinate the entire episode? Was he going crazy like Master Splinter? There was no way that girl was real. No way. He licked his bottom lip and beneath the sugary flavor he could taste her there, honeyed peaches. His body jerked at the lingering taste of her.

"Oh shit," he said miserably and stared forward into the darkness, wondering what he was going to do. How he was going to explain what had happened. He needed to tell someone about the turtle girl. But who the heck would believe him? He'd have to bring her to them. Introduce her before any of them would dare believe that he wasn't pulling a prank. But a strange nagging feeling in his stomach gave him pause. No. He didn't want any of them to see her, he realized with a thick feeling of dread. He shook his head. Wait, what was he _thinking_? He couldn't keep this from his brothers. They needed to know there was another mutant down here with them.

_Not just any mutant_, a voice whispered in his mind. A _girl_. A _female_.

A mutant turtle who was a female. He suddenly chuckled in spite of himself; feeling suddenly very silly and foolish for overreacting back there. God, what kind of baby was he? What was he afraid of anyway? She was just a _girl_. And really, really pretty. Sort of like the one he'd dreamt about before. He blushed in the dark, eyes sparkling with the memory.

But this girl was real. And she had _kissed_ him! His first kiss! It was nice. He frowned. Why did he still feel . . . scared? What was he running away from? His mind became confused, then excited, he'd go see her tonight, then he'd bring her home to the lair. His brothers were going to be so excited! Especially Leo. Mikey paused in his thoughts. Now why did he just think that? Unease and an unfamiliar feeling swept through him. As if he didn't want Leonardo near her. His head pounded and ached. _Ouch! What the heck?_

Mikey cradled his head against the heels of his hands. He took in a few deep breaths and tried to calm down. His mind was going in a million directions at once and he was starting to feel dizzy and sick. This was too much. Too big. He needed a plan. He needed to tell his brothers. And he would, he promised himself.

She said something about tonight? Didn't . . . she? He frowned, trying to remember exactly what she had said to him right before he ran out. But the harder he tried to recall it, the more slippery the memory became until he was left blinking in the darkness, feeling bemused and more than a little shook up. His mind blanked even as his heart raced. He mentally groped around but came up with nothing but an yawning emptiness where a memory should have been.

Confused, he glanced about. _What was he trying to think of, again?_ He stood up and looked around the tunnel. How did he get here? What the heck was he doing? He rubbed the back of his head. Did he fall and bump his head? He stepped over to where his skateboard was and stooped to pick it up. He tossed it in front of him and hopped on top. A violent shiver made his arms sway at his sides. A smile broke out over his face as goose-bumps stampeded over his flesh. He removed his music device from his belt and glanced at the built in clock. It was already past lunch!

"Eep! I gotta get home before Leo kills me for skipping chores and practice all day."

Feeling vaguely as though he were forgetting something, something important, Michelangelo kicked off the ground and began rolling back towards his home. A strange melody stirred in his inner ear and he hummed along to a tune he was sure he'd never heard before, but the repeating rhythm was catchy . . . almost hypnotic.

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**A/N:** Well!? Please tell meeeee! Is Mikey hotness weird or good? Both?

Hey, if you want to see the Mistress in her guise of girl mutant turtle - I have a picture I made of her on my deviantart page under Sleepingseeker, The Mistress!


	7. Ch 7 - turbulence

**A/N:** Another update! Oh my gosh, I'm goin' nuts! This story is just spilling out of me! My fingers are nearly raw from typing! But I'm loving every minute and hearing from you readers is the BEST Part! Thank you, all of you guys! Everyone who reviewed as Guests, thank you so much! I wish I could PM you and chat - but unfortunately, I'm left with just being able to say: THANK YOU! Please keep those reviews/questions/comments coming! I'll do my best to answer them and get this story rolling along!

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"Oh, you tell me to hold on -

Oh, you tell me to hold on!

But innocence is gone

and what was right is wrong!" -_Bleeding Out_, Imagine Dragons

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**CHAPTER 7 – Turbulence**

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Master Splinter was a blur of bristling gray and white fur as he sprung across the short expanse from the cushions he was perched upon to where Leonardo stood: gaping and frozen in shock. His claws came up, intending to slash at the boy's throat, but Leonardo recovered enough just in time to bring both arms up in a block. Splinter's claws raked at him, cutting through the flesh of his arms; marking them with long narrow gashes. Leo fell back, flinching and crying out in shock. Splinter twisted his hips and brought his foot around in a round-house kick. Leo jumped back and then again as another kick was thrown. He continued his defensive movements, taking the sharp strikes against his stinging forearms and shins. Dark bruises bloomed and darkened across his skin. Leonardo didn't have time to talk sense into his master, his mind was focused on anticipating and deflecting the oncoming attacks. He continued to duck and dodge and block, shuffling back and back again, until he found himself out in the living space of the lair. Though he hadn't trained in over a year due to his sickness, Master Splinter was a blur of speed; his kicks and punches lost no power or accuracy.

"Please!" Leo shouted as he ducked a sweeping chop from Splinter's right hand and then hopped sideways as a snap kick came at him. He brought his hands up, pleadingly. "Please, Master-" The heel of Splinter's hand caught him directly in the mouth as he tried to speak. The impact knocked his head sharply back. Stars filled his vision. His mouth filled with a fresh thick glob of blood that spurted out from between his swelling lips. His feet stumbled and one heel snagged on the edge of the patterned throw rug and he went down with a grunt. He scrambled backwards and then fumbled at trying to get back up, head spinning. But Master Splinter snarled and was on him; straddling his chest and pinning him back hard against the rough surface of the floor.

His bright eyes were wild and flashing as he shrieked, _"Akuma! Die!"_

Leonardo's arms were locked in place by Splinter's knees pressing down. He bucked and thrashed but Splinter's fists rained down, without hesitation, without mercy; slamming into Leo's cheeks, snout, chin and mouth; over and over until his eyes rolled up in his head. The pain was a thundering stampede through his head and neck and shoulders. His body jumped with each blow. His hands shook and his fingers grasped weakly at the fur along Master Splinter's legs. The attack paused and Leo's dazed and roving eyes snapped into focus and widened in panic as he felt Splinter's hands wrap around the front of his throat and squeeze. Splinter's amber eyes narrowed, turning into wicked slits of flashing gold.

_He wouldn't . . . _his thought was interrupted as Splinter began to speak.

"You will not have her," Splinter said from between gritted teeth, his face mere inches from Leo's. A vicious smile spread across his father's face. "You, filthy . . ." he squeezed Leonardo's throat tighter and began to shake him. "She is mine. You will not take her from me, demon."

His lips sputtered as he choked and struggled for air. From just behind Master Splinter's shoulder an image flickered and solidified. Leonardo's eyes grew round with fright. The Mistress leaned over Splinter's back but he seemed to not feel a thing or notice anyone was even there let alone on top of him. Languidly, she picked at the tip of one of his father's ears. Her golden eyes bore pupils of black vertical slits. They turned to him and she smiled. It was wicked and self-satisfied.

"Having fun, my brave little pet?" her voice purred inside his mind.

Leonardo's lips pursed as he choked, foam and blood coursed down from the corners of his mouth. He thrashed with his shoulders, but Splinter only pressed down harder.

"Well, I'm just getting started." The tip of her tongue poked out as she moistened her bottom lip. "You should not have resisted me when I came to collect you. You'll regret defying me." She leaned forward and licked the curved edge of Master Splinter's ear. It flicked slightly, but other than that, there was no outward sign that Splinter even noticed.

"P-P-ea-se-" Leo managed to choke out the word, but barely.

She shook her head, still smiling that reptilian grin. "I'm going to hurt you, pet. I'm going to take your family apart. Piece," her tongue lapped along Splinter's ear, "by piece." She fluttered her fingers at him and like wisps of dissipating smoke, she faded and vanished into the air; her laughter echoed and bounced, reverberating throughout his panicked mind.

Leonardo felt the pressure in his chest and head starting to build as his exhausted and beaten body grew rigid as it fought for air. The muscles in his arms and legs bunched and strained. He bucked and kicked his legs; heels digging into the folds of the rug beneath him. He shook his head, managing to turn it a little; straining to get his arms free. Tears of exertion and fear were burning his eyes. His heart hammered painfully; his pulse throbbed in his ears. The room beyond Splinter's face was beginning to grow dark around the further edges of his vision. His chin lifted as he attempted to pull free from the vice-like hold. Red blotches appeared in front of his vision. He choked and strangled noises rose out of him as he tried to voice his desperate plea for mercy.

Splinter raised up and pressed down. Leonardo's eyelids dropped closed from the crushing pain. But dimly he realized he could get his hand free. He brought it up and gripped Splinter's wrist. He fumbled with fingers that felt clumsy and somehow detached from the messages his brain was sending. Sensation and feeling was off. It was getting hard to focus.

Splinter snarled at him and brought his forehead down. It cracked into Leo's. A flash of acute pain blinded him. His eyes rolled and his grip weakened and Splinter head-butted him again. Leo pulled his other arm free with a final surge of effort. He wrapped his fingers around Master Splinter's wrists, holding him firmly. He kicked and bucked and was able to get enough momentum to roll Master Splinter and himself backwards. Splinter released his hold on Leonardo's throat as they tumbled, head over heels through the room. They broke apart, rolling away from each other. Splinter came up in a crouch, ready to leap onto him again as Leo braced one forearm against the floor; choking and coughing; gasping for air. His head spun from the blows and lack and then sudden rush of oxygen. He raised one hand to his father, palm facing the old rat.

_"F-Father_," he said hoarsely, through the swelling of his mouth, through the paste-like blood coating his dry tongue, "please, stop." He turned to face him, eyes full of bright tears. "I-It's me, Leo." He broke off and started to cough, then, "Your _s-son_."

With a slow, measured movement, Splinter straightened up. He gave Leonardo a long look full of pure revulsion and disgust. His eyes glittered and Leonardo found himself quailing beneath the look; bracing himself for what was to come next; unsure of what to expect with this sudden composed demeanor that came over his father. He felt anxious and afraid. He never expected the words that flowed from his father's mouth; wouldn't have had enough time to prepare for this next blow if he had forever to make ready for it.

"You? My son? No." He laughed and it was hollow and bitter and cold. "You are no son of mine, _freak_."

Leo blanched as he cringed, feeling the cruel name pierce him like a sword to the heart. His head lowered and his chest squeezed painfully. He'd heard it over the years. Countless times from countless voices. But never was it spoken from this voice, this trusted and most loved voice. His brothers avoided using the term, using every other imaginable combination of curses and insults aimed at each other when teasing and angry, but never this word. It was taboo. They knew how it hurt, how it stung and left a wound that time didn't quite heal but rather allowed to fester and drill only deeper; shearing holes into their sense of self-worth and fragile dignity.

"_Father_ . . ." he murmured, broken and pleading, the hurt evident in his tone.

Splinter's lip curled, "Do not call me that."

From enemies and strangers it was shouted at him, screamed at him, snarled and whispered to him, but never did it cut him like it did at this moment. Unbidden, hot tears spilled out from his burning eyes, searing tracks into his flushed cheeks. He didn't realize he'd brought his aching arms up, hugging himself protectively, as if subconsciously comforting himself against the pain; heart constricting with a heavy, crushing anguish. He quickly dashed the tears away as he knelt before his father, panting and catching his breath. The father who claimed to not know him. Who seemed to hate him and only want him dead. The person that Leonardo aspired to be like, raising him up in his mind and heart on a pedestal that reached beyond the clouds. His love for his father was near reverence.

He knew the Mistress was behind this. All of it. Yet, he also knew that he'd slipped up somewhere. He had disappointed Splinter in some profound way and though a part of his mind ordered him to pay no heed to anything his father may utter, due to his mental state; another part, a deeper part of him, believed that whatever Splinter spoke of, it was uninhibited truth. Painful or not to bear, Leonardo had to face the fact that he'd dishonored Splinter somehow. A terrible thought struck Leonardo. What if Splinter . . . if Splinter knew what had happened to him last year? With the Mistress?

Leonardo swallowed at the lump wedged in his dry, sore throat. The woman that he saw with his father. The dark haired woman. It was her. It had to be. There was no other explanation for it. The way she'd just appeared on Splinter when he was strangling him and then vanished. It was just as the woman in his father's bedroom had disappeared.

His stomach sank to his knees. In the bedroom, she had whispered something in his father's ear right before she vanished and he attacked. The Mistress knew all of his secrets. She was in his head; probing, searching and discovering, just like before in that cell when he was captured. If she'd revealed to Splinter how easily his son had succumbed to her seduction, how willingly his body responded to her touch and her lips, how just before they tore into his flesh he experienced a joy that blotted out everything else that he held dear; releasing all his burdens and dread and tension; making it all vanish in that brief moment; making him only want her. Only her. Forever.

And like the aftermath of experiencing the most addictive drug in existence, he continued to ache and crave her flesh on his. When he thought he was done with it all. Free of the invisible ties that bound him to her. He was not free. No. For he dreamt of her touch, her lips, her supple body, the power she made him feel when he was inside of her, like he was not a mistake, an accident; but something infinitely _more_ . . . a man . . . a leader . . . a _god_. Yes, despite the pain, despite the fear, night after night, he sought her in the darkness.

He believed that he was truly pathetic and weak. It was true. If she offered, he'd forsake everything to feel that again: his honor, his duty, his responsibilities, _everything_. Leonardo dropped his head. She had taken him apart and when he finally came back together some parts of him were left on the outside, somehow, and he didn't know how to put them back in.

And now, Splinter knew of his shameful, secret desires. Surely that is why his father was ashamed of him. That is why he wanted nothing to do with someone as weak as he.

He was no leader. He was not strong. He should have fought her off last year on that roof. She overpowered him with his own selfish desires. He had failed miserably with keeping his brothers in line; had fought with Raphael many times over despite his father's commands to maintain peace without fighting; to command respect without having to come to blows or coarse language. And most grievous of all, he allowed himself to be taken and used, and then hungered for the touch of that demon, his fervent desire burning shamefully in the pit of his soul, the blazing yearning for her evolving into lust-filled dreams that made him flush with shame with just the memory of them. And somehow, impossible as it seemed, he'd brought her here, again, into his very home. And she was targeting his family. It was all his fault. Everything.

Leonardo dropped his face to the floor in submission, bowing as low as he could possibly go. Blood dribbled from his lips in ropy strings as he spoke, voice thick with emotion and sorrow, "I-I'm so s-sorry, Master! I'm not . . . I don't know wha-what to . . . how to fix this. I only want to –"

His words were cut off as Splinter's foot crashed against the side of his head. He flew to the side, yelping in pain as he grasped at his temple. Splinter stooped and grabbed him by the shoulders, his knee came up and slammed into Leonardo's ribs. As he fell back down, Splinter kicked him viciously again and again, until Leo curled in on himself into a tight ball; a high pitched whine of pain escaped from him. The blows stopped and Splinter laughed with contempt. The sound of it was nearly as painful as the blows he'd taken. Nearly as painful as hearing his own father call him a _freak_. He rolled, using the side of his head as leverage, to face the floor, choking and gasping for air and started to crawl away from Splinter.

"You sicken me." He heard Splinter say and it seemed to come from a long distance away. The floor tilted up to one side. His vision blurred and he widened his eyes and gave a brief shake of his throbbing head. It did no good. The edges of the room were growing blacker by the second. Everything was doubling and dancing in his line of sight.

Head hung low to the floor and pounding, eyes tearing, body screaming in pain: he crawled forward on his elbows and knees. Every breath he tried to force into his lungs sent a sharp bolt of pain through his side. A rib had to be broken. He was going to die here. At the hands of his mad father. And he _deserved_ it. He choked and swallowed more blood, feeling his stomach twist and roil as the bitter, coppery fluid filled it.

Blearily, he spotted a pair of Michelangelo's nun-chucks where he'd thrown them next to the couch next to some candy wrappers and an empty pizza box. A spark of hope ignited the fire of his courage. Leonardo was never more thankful that his brother tended to be a lazy slob than right now.

. . .

Donatello huffed as jumped down to the floor of the tunnel off the ladder. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder. His left shoulder was aching, making carrying the bag more of a chore than it should have been. He rubbed it and frowned. He must have pulled a tendon when he hit the ground after April kicked him out the window.

"She's lucky I didn't break something," he grumbled to himself, pouting. He grimaced as he peered at several of the deeper gashes he'd sustained rolling through the garbage and broken glass of the alley on his forearms and palms. He wrinkled his nose as he dug a shard free from one of his cuts. He'd need to disinfect all of these and there was probably more glass where that came from. He huffed through his nose, hard. The wounds were superficial, but they hurt and stung! He clenched his jaw and headed towards home. Feeling sorry for himself and angrier with each step he took.

He knew he should have never said what he did. He spotted a can and kicked it down the tunnel in front of him fiercely. But it wasn't a lie, either. They'd gotten nowhere in their relationship since it started officially last year.

She'd been so excited and happy when they'd first began the adventure of their romance. She'd invite him over and they'd watch a movie, eating popcorn and snuggling up on her couch like a normal couple. Most nights, he'd wrap his arm around her and was content with just that. Her proximity and warmth sent him blissfully to a state of happiness. But then about a month into it, she started doing this little thing where she'd stop and seem to mull over what she wanted to do next. He learned to read the signs well.

She'd peer at him sideways and he'd pretend not to notice. But he did. Every time. Then she'd burrow her body a little closer to his. And then she'd turn to look at him, biting the corner of her bottom lip . . . just the thought of it sent a mix of desire and anger through Donatello. His heart would start to race, knowing what was going to happen next. She'd turn her face to his. Sometimes, she'd reach up and tug at the ends of his mask, pulling his face closer. Languidly, their mouths would come together and press sweetly on and off making gentle noises with the contact. Sometimes it was soft and sweet and sometimes it was more . . . hungry. Those times she would slam her lips into his forcefully. The impact would stun him and steal his breath away. Leaving him feeling hot, dizzy and shaky once she'd pull away; his lips tingling from the rough contact and his heart thrumming like an overheating accelerator.

And he was happy with that. Just that. Ecstatic, really. All his dreams were coming true. She accepted him. She saw past his exterior and wanted to know him better as to who he was on the inside. She wanted to kiss him and did! What more could he ask for? Did he want more? Well, sure, but he was in no rush. He could be patient - for her. For them.

He kept his raging desire well restrained and under control around her. The nights were long and uncomfortable after he went home alone with only the memory of her lips pressing on his mouth. His mind would be spinning around all the talk that they'd shared and he'd wonder about what he could do to be more romantic, to be a better boyfriend, to figure out what she wanted from him.

And the nights when her kisses seemed to want more from him, insistent and full of silent yearning, sending him into a fiery frenzy of blazing need and confusion, only to end abruptly with her insisting coldly that it was time for him to go - he ended up having to . . . to take care of himself. Alone. He couldn't help it. The heat from her rough attention would not ease until he'd give in and rescue himself from the throbbing pressure, the aching need that demanded relief.

He lay in his bed, late at night, restless and uncomfortable; doing his best to imagine her there; the fingertips of one hand would stroke his bottom lip gently, still feeling the tingle of her lips on his; meanwhile he tried to pretend that it was her hand on his rigid body and not his own calloused palm and fingers. Feeling empty and more than a little ashamed afterwards; trembling, panting and staring at the blank bricks of the wall next to his cold bed; wishing so badly for her to be there next to him. Only partially satisfied from the release, the permanent ache still there in his heart as he longed intensely for her.

. . .

But one night, three months after they'd officially considered themselves in a _real_ relationship, they had moved from her living room into the bedroom. They'd been kissing and kissing until her lips were puffy and honestly, his jaw was a little tired. He was on top of her on her bed, propped up by both elbows to keep some of his weight off her. Her movements were more urgent and her fingers had traced and caressed all up and down around his jaw, neck and back of his head as they kissed. The sensation of her fingertips was driving him crazy with need.

He broke free and as she panted, he moved his mouth down to kiss her jawline and then her neck, his left hand stroked her cheek. It moved down to the side of her neck where his thumb caressed the delicate flesh there and then it slid lower slightly, with some hesitation. He was entering dangerous territory and didn't want to screw this up. For weeks he'd wanted to feel her, to cup and hold and squeeze what he felt pressed against him whenever she hugged him.

He'd watched carefully for any sign that she wanted more from him. Any sign at all. He thought she gave it to him when she led him into her room. He was sure this was it. But his trembling palm just ghosted over the curved mound of her breast when she stiffened. He felt the rush of her fear like a bucket of cold water tipped over his head and he immediately stopped. Part of him wanted to press on and just pretend he didn't notice her sudden trepidation, but he couldn't do that. It just wasn't in him. Perhaps if he were brazen, like his brother Raphael, or bold, like Leonardo. But instead it was just him. Timid and compliant. Ever compliant.

_Oh, no._

"Are you okay?" he murmured breathlessly, pulling away slightly; already knowing what the problem was: he'd strayed off the safe path of only touching her hair and shoulders when they kissed; the unspoken law. His offending hand was now tucked neatly behind her back. Far away from anything sexual. His brown eyes danced between her blue. She looked worried and a little perturbed. He blinked down at her, feigning ignorance of what just went wrong, hopefully hiding the bitter disappointment from her. He did not want to pressure her about this. He just had thought . . . the way she'd been kissing him . . . when she led him here, into her bedroom, onto her bed . . . he was sure that, at least, something more than kissing was going to happen.

He asked innocently, "A-Am I . . . too heavy?" Donatello shifted and propped the weight of his body with one elbow.

He reached out and brushed a lock of red hair from her cheek. She looked like she was deciding something. Face flushed from their earlier heavy kissing, Donatello held his breath. His pulse raced in his ears.

"Donnie," she started.

He swallowed nervously, "Yeah?"

"We need to slow things down."

Disappointment speared him. He blinked back the powerful surge of overwhelming hurt that well up within him, determined for it not to show in his expression or his eyes. _Why?_ he wanted to ask but said, "W-Well, sure," his voice cracked. He cleared his throat, but it didn't strengthen the breathlessness of his words as he went on, "Sure, April. I m-mean if th-that's wha . . . what you need."

He shifted and watched as she pulled away from him and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, her back to him. Unsure of what he'd done wrong, he looked around the room and slowly came to sit up on his heels, hands limp on his lap. His heart was beating hard and each beat seemed to hurt more than the last. He rubbed the back of his burning neck. An apology, a promise, anything to quell the sudden awkwardness in the room raced through his mind. He had nothing. She twisted around.

"Not forever," she swore. "Just for now."

Donnie nodded. Of course. He understood. It was complicated. If he were _normal_. If he were _human,_ things would be different. It would be easier to figure out what she wanted . . . if he wasn't a _freak_, he thought bitterly. His eyes dropped and he fidgeted with an errant bump of the blanket. She smiled with a nervous laugh and shrugged. He glanced up at her, head still lowered.

Her eyes turned mischievous as she said, "Just be patient, okay, Donnie?" She paused and reached out to stroke the side of his face. Despite his hurt, he leaned into the touch. With a sigh, she said earnestly with a lowered, husky tone, a bedroom voice, that caught and nailed his attention, "I want you so _bad_."

Her words sliced through him with the power of one of Leonardo's blades. He swallowed and couldn't help the gulping noise that came from the motion. It was suddenly very hard to breath. He searched her eyes for answers to his unspoken hope. Was she . . . was she trying to say that she wanted to be with him . . . physically? An awed smile wavered across his mouth. He couldn't believe this! It was a miracle!

"I wa-want you, too, April." Hope made his boiling blood race and his stomach flutter. He leaned forward.

"Well, good," she said flatly and dropped her hand away; completely oblivious to the emotional roller coaster ride of death he was currently experiencing. He froze with her sudden shift. "We'll slow it down a little and then . . ." she shrugged. "When I get a little bit more comfortable, then we'll try some stuff out. Okay?"

He nodded mutely and forced a watery smile as he eased back onto his heels. That did sound good. He could be patient. For her. He would wait as long as she needed. He was a ninja. Wasn't patience one of the things he was supposed to be good at? Like balance and stealth and cracking people's skulls open with his bo. He really wanted to crack some skulls at this very minute, in fact. He blinked back his surge of irrational fury born of unsatisfied needs and temptation that yield only more frustration and yearning. His eyes dropped to the rumpled blanket between them. Well, at least with all the practice he was getting – he'd be the world's most patient ninja that ever lived.

. . .

Nine months later, Donatello slogged through the damp sewers, body burning and aching in different places. He punched the side of the brick wall as the memory of that night faded.

"I'm such an idiot!"

A battle between rage and frustration waged within his heart and sexual tension was the referee. But he didn't know where to direct it. He didn't want to fight with April. Not about this. It was all wrong and would only lead to more hurt feelings and misunderstanding, he was sure. He had no idea what he was doing wrong. When he tried to talk about moving things forward, he fumbled and messed up the point. Always teetering between the fact that he was so grateful that she was interested in him and pleading that they maybe try moving forward. The former she'd listen to happily, the latter would make her get cold and standoffish with him, either changing the subject or simply telling him she had her college exams to study for and it was time for him to leave. He had no idea of what to do to help things along, to make her feel safe and most importantly, to make her want him more.

He was completely baffled and it was a feeling he did not enjoy. Problems were something to take apart, examine and fix, maybe even improve on the original design. This was one challenge that tormented him and drove him nearly insane with his inability to improve the situation in the slightest. It was all so confusing. And he had no one he could talk to.

Mikey didn't even know what sex was, poor kid. He probably never would, Donnie thought with a sad shake of his head. If he went to Raph, he'd probably just mock his inexperience and use it as fodder for future humiliating attacks and snide comments. The very thought of what he might say in April's presence had his cheeks blazing with embarrassment despite the scenario only existing in his mind.

Which brought him to his oldest brother. Leonardo. Leo had gone through something deeply traumatic and Donatello was sure it involved that golden woman. And if it involved her, from what he could gather, she could twist and manipulate sexual need and desire – what she had done to his brother, he could only guess. But Donatello was confronted by the evidence of his traumatic experience every day. Whatever it was he was put through. He was tense and more distant. Not to mention the nightmares. It made him uneasy to see Leonardo so shaken. And the fact that April would not confide in him about it only further confounded and enraged him. He didn't need yet another mystery nagging at him, taunting him with answers just out of reach.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice Michelangelo come up around the bend. They nearly slammed into each other. Mikey's humming of some melody stopped abruptly. He and Donnie exchanged surprised looks.

"You nearly plowed me over, bonehead," Donnie said as he adjusted his strap again.

"Sorry, bro. I was trying to think of something I forgot," Mikey said and picked up his skateboard as he walked alongside Donatello.

"What?"

Mikey scratched the side of his cheek and squinted up at the ceiling. "I'm not sure. That's what I'm trying to say. I had a memory of something. And I think it was important. But now it's gone." He snapped his fingers. "Like that. I just know that it was there earlier and now it's not. I guess I should just let it go, right? Isn't that what you're supposed to do when you try to remember something and it won't come to you? Just let it go and it'll return on its own or something?"

Donnie only frowned in response to his brother's nonsensical rambling. Dimly, he felt a nagging guilt in the back of his mind. If Michelangelo was out, that meant that Leonardo was left alone with Master Splinter. Donnie pushed the guilt away. _Serves him right_, he thought vindictively. Part of him hoped that Splinter had had another episode just to prove to his overbearing brother that sedation was becoming necessary and he couldn't handle Master Splinter's outbursts with soothing words and calming gestures alone anymore. He sighed. More likely, he was left in the peace and quiet of their home with Splinter sleeping the day away. He'd given him enough sedative to keep him out until the evening.

Mikey's eyes widened as he did a double take of Donnie, just noticing the state he was in. "What the heck happened to you? Fall off a building again?" He laughed and nudged Donnie with one elbow.

Donnie stopped mid-step, he hurried and caught up with Mikey still chuckling. "I only fell off that building because I was darted with a drug-filled syringe, in case you forgot that along with whatever else you were trying to remember."

They stopped just outside the entrance to the lair.

"I'm just sayin'," Mikey went on with a shrug. "Raph's been darted like a hundred times and he's _never_ fallen off a building, dude."

Donatello mumbled his reply, "That's because Raph's built like a freaking freight trai-"

A shriek of pain cut Donatello off. The boys' faces darted to the entrance of the lair. Without a second thought, both raced inside. They bolted over the turnstiles and dashed down the steps. Only coming to an abruptly halt with a violent jerk. Donnie's arm stopped Mikey from going any further.

"Oh god!" Mikey shouted from behind him. "What! What did you _do_!?"

Leo was on his knees, wheezing and out of breath; a pair of bloody nun-chucks clutched in one fist. His face was a mess of blood, streaked with tear tracks. Between that were bruises; his bottom lip hung from his gaping mouth, swollen and dripping crimson. His arms were covered in wounds and smeared blood. Donnie started to shake as his eyes dropped down to see a gray form slumped on the floor in front of his brother. Master Splinter's beaten, naked, body was in a heap directly in front of Leonardo. A dark pool was beneath their father's side of his head.

With legs and knees unable to hold him up but still managing somehow, Donatello stumbled forward. He dropped his bag to the side. How could this have happened? He'd sedated their father. He should have been out all day. His earlier vindictive thoughts returned and he tasted the rising bile from his churning stomach. This was all his fault. He should have never left Leo here. If he'd only known that Splinter would've had another attack. But he'd have never guessed that Splinter and Leo would get violent with each other. Another furious thought replaced his incredulity as he looked at his oldest brother. _This is better than drugs, huh, Leo?_ he thought and his jaw clenched so hard his back teeth cracked. _Not now._ Now wasn't the time to be angry with his hypocritical, overbearing, control-freak of a brother.

Eyes locked on Master Splinter, he barked out over his shoulder, "Mikey, go get the first aid box from the lab." His voice seemed far away and belonging to someone else. "Now, Mikey," he repeated. _"Now!"_ he snapped. And from the corner of his eye, he caught the blurred figure race towards the lab.

Leonardo's swaying, bobbing head raised. It seemed to take a lot of effort for him to even manage to raise his face up the fraction that he did. Glassy blue eyes filled with pain met unbelieving, horrified, furious brown.

He started from between gritted teeth, still fighting back the fury, "Leo, what have you –"

_"Help me,"_ Leonardo pleaded in a whispered voice and his eyes rolled up into his head as he lulled forward. He collapsed over Master Splinter's body.

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**A/N: Review! Review! Review! Tell me everything! I especially love song recommendations!**


	8. Ch 8 - Raph Tries

_"Why do we fall in love so easy?_

_…even when it's not right._

_Where there is desire there is gonna be a flame._

_Where there is a flame someone's bound to get burned._

_But just because it burns doesn't mean you're gonna die -_

_you gotta get up and try, try, try . . ."_ -_Try_, Pink

* * *

**Chapter 8 – Raph Tries**

* * *

Raphael's legs were numb. He had no sensation at all in his feet. The feel of the worn motel rug was lost to the bottoms of his toes. His arms hung useless and limp on the armrests of the chair; fingers twitching every now and then as he fought with whether or not he should try to touch her. He wanted to. Every fiber of his being wanted to touch and caress, stroke and squeeze and hold. His senses were filled with her; her scent flooded him, making his head spin and his mouth water despite his tongue feeling thick and heavy. His jaw was clenched and locked as he battled this internal torment that she was putting him through just by sitting on his lap. Part of him wanted her to get off and leave him alone. Part of him wanted to stay like this forever.

She sighed as the characters in the movie, some red monster-guy missing his horns and some brunette lady, were having a heart to heart. If anyone had asked him what the movie was about he'd have no idea. He hadn't exactly been paying it much attention aside from a few action sequences and explosions that caught his eye and momentarily distracted him from her body. But the distraction was brief at best.

His head was spinning and feeling like a bobbing ship on a rocky sea from the whiskey in his system. The bottle had long been drained and laid next to the seat that he occupied with the mostly naked woman draped over his lap. His body existed in different climate zones, one portion of him cold and clammy another, blazing with a smoldering heat. His eyes had been locked on various parts of her body that he could see from his vantage point the entire time: the top of her head, her knees, the slanting lines of her thighs, the soft curved mounds of her breasts half-hidden beneath the ragged edge of the towel; rising and falling gently with every breath she took. He drank in the vision of her draped over him. Drank it like a man perpetually dying of thirst.

He'd tried ignoring the fact that that thin towel was the only thing keeping her nubile flesh somewhat concealed from him. Tried to ignore the way her fingers continued to absentmindedly stroke and pet at the edge of his plastron, trailing along his collarbone, along his jawline and up and down the side of his neck. Each touch sent electric currents of pleasure into him. Each touch scorching him from the underside of his flesh, inside out. Sure she could feel the rapid fluttering of his pulse beneath her fingertips, hear the hammering of his desperate heart, he blushed in spite of himself. His mind continued playing the image of him tearing the towel from her and throwing her onto the bed and driving furiously into her in an endless, fruitless loop.

His manhood had been throbbing a rhythm of need and frustration since the moment she crawled onto his lap. Now the feeling in the very lowest divide of his plastron was becoming an acute pain. Sharp cramps shot around his abdomen to his back and down into his inner thighs. He could feel the flexible portion of his lower plastron bulging; stretching as far as it could without him allowing it to be released. It hurt. A lot. But he could handle it.

Better than giving in to the need to release and making a complete fool of himself. That, or scaring the crap out of Deborah. Much like the rest of his appearance, his manhood was less than subtle. He ran a sweating, trembling palm over his forehead and dropped his hand back onto the armrest. The last thing he needed was to spring out in all his mutant glory and have her running and screaming from the motel room. Scarred for life by the hideous and imposing sight of him.

He'd seen enough porn to know that he was built bigger than human men, though not so different in shape, so it wouldn't be impossible to be with a human woman, just . . . it would take someone open to a _very_ different experience to say the least. And Raphael was sure that no one on earth would be interested in him in _that_ way let alone willing to put up with his temper and attitude. Even if a miracle happened and they got past his charming personality and matching looks, they would book the minute they saw him exposed. He'd lose her forever, not that he ever really had her. But what he did get from her he wanted to keep. So pain be damned, he kept it firmly locked within the thin flap of sinewy skin that kept him concealed; abdominal muscles held tightly pulled back and up; where it continued pressing insistently against him; demanding to be freed.

Had she pressed or leaned her body anywhere near his lower region it would have been too much for him. She was perched mostly on his thighs and that's where she needed to stay. So every time she shifted, Raph shifted along with her with a soft grunt; sweat running down the back of his neck as he concentrated on keeping his dignity intact. It was a cruel game she was playing. One that he was beginning to believe she knew all the rules to along with some cheats that he was unaware of.

Besides his physical body's turmoil, his mind was a scattered mess. It replayed the last words she'd said to him before falling into a silent trance as she watched the movie. She'd said she just wanted _this_. This. What the hell was _this_? And when he tried to talk to her, to clarify, to understand, she told him to be quiet. And like a good little boy, he complied. His patience, what little of it he possessed, was nearly gone.

He was not like Leonardo who had infinite patience to focus and meditate: a Splinter junior. Raph would see him in the dojo or in his room, sitting in the same position for an hour, searching for inner peace or becoming one with the universe or whatever the hell he did in his head while he sat there. It drove Raph crazy just seeing him on that mat, not moving a muscle. Mr. Perfectly-In-Balance-With-Life. What a kiss-up. It made his skin crawl. It made him want to punch Leo in the side of the head or throw a cream pie in his face; knocking him off that high horse his ass was strapped to; something Mikey would enjoy seeing as well. He decided to suggest the prank to his devilish younger brother next time he had a chance to pull him aside. Raphael was always happy to encourage his brother's wicked creative side as long as he wasn't on the receiving end.

And Donatello was no better. He had a deep pool of patience that Raphael could barely fathom. The nut would work for hours, patiently rebuilding or repairing the tiniest mechanical circuit-junk-thing. Something that Raphael felt would just be easier to toss in the trash and find a piece that wasn't broken. Even _Mikey_ had more patience than him. That kid could become so engrossed in an rpg that he was lost in it the entire night, solving puzzles and unlocking secret levels. Master Splinter had gone so far as to forbid him from joining or participating in any online gaming that involved world building for fear that they'd never see the kid again.

The sparse threads that held Raphael's self-control and patience had slowly frayed and snapped one by one as Deborah nestled and shifted slightly on his lap as the movie continued on the small television and then finally, mercifully ended.

Two hours of having the precious little bit of his patience and tolerance tested had turned his initial interest and excitement of having this woman on him into a slow burn of frustration that morphed into fury. He'd battled with soldiers, wrestled through broken glass, garbage and sludge, been darted with mind-alerting drugs, but being tortured like this was simply unfair. And he'd had his fill.

As the movie credits began to roll, he gripped the armrests and moved to stand up. Deborah wrapped both arms around his neck. He froze as she shifted around and straddled him. His heart tripped and his body gave a sharp jerk but he held himself together. More cramps speared him. A choked sound rose out from the back of his throat.

"Where are you going?"

He coughed and cleared his throat roughly. His green eyes rose and met hers. "What the fuck are you doing?" he growled at her.

Yes, anger felt better. What the hell had he been thinking just sitting here this entire time, letting her use him like a damn couch? Where the hell was his dignity? Humiliation washed him in ice. He'd let her make him sit there, like he was her slave or pet or something degrading. And he just let her. And why? Cuz she smelled good? Was he insane? The anger was fast turning into an incendiary blaze of fury.

Slowly, she slid her arms free, still holding his shoulders lightly with her palms. She gave him a steady look, gazing into his eyes. He didn't care what she saw there. As long as she got the message. He wasn't her toy to fuck around with and toss when she was done. He stood up abruptly and the swift motion had him tilting severely to the side before he righted himself; irritated to find his feet roiling with pins and needles. His head swam and he shook it briefly, feeling the effects of the amount of whiskey he'd imbibed.

Deborah scrambled off, nearly falling onto the floor on her rump. She grabbed the towel and clutched it tightly between her breasts. Raphael's eyes snapped to the plumped shape the motion gave her only to clamp his eyes tightly closed. He didn't need any more torture. He began to pace, listing first to one side then to the other; raising his hands up as he ground out his frustrated and slurred words.

"I haven't seen you . . . in a year and then you pop up outta nowhere, get in my way, get yourself hurt and then you . . . you . . ." His hands gestured at the towel wrapped around her in a clumsy, general way. His words tumbling away and crumbling like so much useless rubble. His mouth opened and closed helplessly.

"I what?" she asked, slightly narrowing her eyes, shaking her head uncomprehendingly. She gestured at the television with her free hand. "Watch a movie with you?"

Raphael's mouth hung open in shock. She was going to play innocent on him? Like she had no idea what she'd been doing all this time was just . . . unfair. And wrong. And mostly . . . unfair! She had no intention of . . . of what? What did he expect from her? From the two of them being together alone. Was Casey right? Was he actually hoping that something was going to happen here? Was he that stupid? That thick? Or had he lost it like Splinter? A beautiful woman alone with a freak like him – what did he really think was going to happen here?

His face darted around the room as he marched back and forth, fuming and more than a little unsteady on his feet. He wished the damn room would just stay still as he walked instead of shifting and tilting to the side with every step. He stomped back to the chair in the loop of his pacing, his foot kicking the empty bottle of whiskey. He stooped picked it up and gripped it tightly.

"Oh yeah?! And this?" he held up the bottle to her in vindictive triumph. He knew what women did when they got drunk. He knew from what he'd seen in one of the porno's he'd actually watched from Casey's collection beneath the bed in this very room while recuperating one night from a nasty run in with Purple Dragons. He'd learned a lot that night. Mostly about women's intentions when it came to alcohol and men. "What about this! Huh?" he slurred. "What the hell was this all about?" She was gonna get drunk to forget how hideous he was, forget how stupid it was that she agreed to come here and then . . . his spinning mind faltered. Wait, what? What did he think? Even drunk she wouldn't want him. He stammered to a stop.

She shrugged in disbelief, "You're mad 'cuz I shared a drink with you?"

He blinked at the bottle in his hand. It doubled once before clearing. He was an idiot.

"And I didn't get in your way, ninja-boy. I didn't get between you and that creep you were pummeling. I stayed back, watching you, until you were done." She paused and folded her arms across her chest. "I was looking for you, all morning. Hoping to maybe just _see_ you somewhere. I thought it would help . . . me."

He stood with his mouth hanging slightly open as she went on. _She was looking for me. Searching for me. But . . . why? _A glimmer of what was something like hope flickered in his wounded heart._ She was hoping to just _see_ me. _He took a half-step towards her, blinking as he tried to clear his blurred vision, but stopped as she went on.

"I knew it was stupid to go looking in the daylight, but I . . . I just," she shrugged and ran both hands through her hair. "Things have gotten so nuts. So . . . fuckin' nuts," she spat the words to her feet. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I-I don't know . . ." she trailed off, looking everywhere but at him. Finally, her voice softened, and as she stared at the space between them, she said, "I really just . . . needed you." Her face fell into a frown, eyes distant and looking lost.

Raph dropped the hand holding the bottle to his side. He was an asshole. Why did he have to mistreat the people he cared most about? His anger at her began to dissipate leaving him flushed and feeling sick from the rush and instant deflation of his emotions. His stomach hurt and he thought he might vomit. That would make this moment perfect, he realized bitterly. In addition to the emotional roller coaster he'd been riding for the past few minutes, his body's need continued to mock him and torment him. He was not only an asshole, an idiot and a fool, but he was disgusting, too. He dropped his face, full of shame. But just as he opened his mouth to apologize for yelling at her, Deborah's voice snapped sharply, as she pointed to her bandage on her neck.

"And it's not my fault you suck at being a ninja. You have no idea how much trouble this is gonna cause me, you . . . _ass_!" she yelled and stomped one foot. She stepped forward and pushed him by both shoulders, he was nudged backwards but not by much. The room swam with the sudden movement. He blinked at her in shock. Did she just _shove_ him?

"If you would've just turned around like a _normal_ person . . . but _no_. What if I were some kid?!" She shook her head angrily, "Can't fuckin' control yourself, and now I'm gonna have to explain this to Saki!" she yelled, cheeks flushed with her anger.

She shoved at him again, this time he didn't move, only narrowed his eyes at her dangerously. The furious words flew from her mouth automatically, as they always did whenever she fought with her brother; aiming to hurt; aiming low, knowing all along what she was saying and choosing to say it anyway, repercussions be damned, because it felt good to unleash the stress and the pain of their daily struggle for survival on the streets. It felt safe to lash out at the person you loved, knowing in the back of your mind and the bottom of your heart that they weren't going to leave you; no matter how awful you were or how cruelly your words cut. And there was always tomorrow for apologies. There was always a chance to take it back and make it better. To make up for the lashing words that sliced deep and true. She and Tyler would fight ugly and mean only to forgive readily the following morning. But now he was gone and she could only stare at herself in the mirror, having no one to forgive – having only herself to blame and hate. Because when he'd forgive her, she could forgive herself. But now he was gone. And all that remained was the hatred and anger and self-loathing.

"You're a fuckin' _animal, you know that?_"

He blinked as he flinched back hard at her words. His grip tightened around the neck of the bottle until his knuckles turned light green. He ground his teeth together. He twisted and threw the bottle across the room. It shattered against the wall as Deborah ducked and covered her head.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"I'm an _animal_. _I'm _an animal," Raphael repeated, fists shaking, fury darkening his features, his bright green eyes flashing even as they narrowed down to wicked slits. "You're out there," he took a step towards her, and despite being slightly shorter than her, Deborah was overwhelmed by the dominance of his furious presence. One arm shot out and pointed out towards the window, "in the Foot . . . doing _what_?!" he roared. "Your big plans for offing the Shredder sure haven't played out. Yeah," he laughed a hollow, mocking chuckle, "You're doing such a great job - _fucking_ the guy that wants me and my family _butchered_." Spit flew from his mouth.

Deborah flinched and stepped backwards, realizing too late that she had gone too far. Her words hurt him, bad. But she'd known they would. That was why she'd said them. To be cruel. Hands up, pleading for him to stop, unable to form the actual words, she backed away from him. Her throat closed up and her chest squeezed until she couldn't breathe. She hadn't wanted to fight with him. She missed him. She wanted him to soothe her and ease her stressed out mind.

_You wanted to use him,_ a voice whispered. _No_. Just. No. She didn't want to hear this – not any of this. She wanted to flee from this, not have it thrown in her face. But he ignored her body language and plowed on, looking more and more angered and repulsed by her. Just the expression on his face made her cringe.

His deep growling voice booming and filling the spaces around her, it surrounded her as he went on, "In case you forgot, he's the same bastard that put me in a cage to fight to the death for his entertainment." He looked away and shook his head, fuming, "had me . . . beaten . . . drugged." He turned his face back towards hers; stared into her eyes as he moved closer to her and without so much as a blink, he added in a low voice full of disbelief and loathing, _"He killed your _brother_._ But_ I'm _the_ animal." _

She cringed and dropped her chin to her chest. Her head swung back and forth one time in denial. How dare he bring up Tyler.

"You . . ." she pinched her eyes closed tightly as the tears burned but did not fall. Her face snapped up. "Fuck _you_, you . . . _fucking_ –" her voice broke and she choked on the word caught in her throat.

Raph jumped up into her face, an inch away. The room behind her was spinning in a sickening way that he tried to ignore. He wanted to grab her, but he couldn't risk it. Some part of him that remained in control knew that if he touched her right then he would hurt her. "What! _What?!_" he screamed in her face, eyes wild, "Just say it! _Say it!_"

She leaned away from him, her breath hitching. The back of her legs hit the foot of the bed. Her knees buckled and she fell back with a soft small cry of distress and surprise. He loomed above her; shaking with rage and the sick unfairness of everything. His face crushed into a frown of hurt and anger. He shook his head in disgust and pain, his voice cracked, "_Freak_. Right? I'm a _freak_ to you." He breathed out, "Nothin' more."

She flopped down onto the mattress, landing on her elbows, the bath towel coming undone. Raphael's breath caught in his throat as his glassy eyes raked over her exposed body; unable to stop himself. His heart stopped. The room spun madly around him. A noise rumbled up out of the depths of him and broke from the back of his throat. A low, thundering rumble that was a mix of a growl and something else. Something feral and wild and uncontrollable. It reverberated through the room. Deborah blinked at him, frozen in shock as the powerful sound of it crawled over her bare skin; leaving her panting.

His eyes rose and locked on her mouth; lips partially open. He couldn't help himself. Couldn't stop the forward momentum of his impassioned will; fired up and blazing through his senses like an out of control wildfire. He sprang forward; falling on top of her; pulling her into his arms as he buried his face into the uninjured side of her neck.

_"Deborah!"_ he cried into her hair and groaned loudly as his body finally won the war with his will power.

Her hands fumbled around his head and shoulders. She tried to grasp him and push him away. Her fingers hooked and dragged against the rim of his shell; pulling at him, but unable to move him even in the slightest. She was furious with him for bringing up her plans to kills the Shredder and then mocking them so completely. Furious at him for throwing her own guilt and fear and self-loathing into her face when he was the very thing that she'd hoped could save her from all of that. She felt his lips, hot and soft, softer than she could've ever imagined, pressed at her throat; kissing her and lapping at her with his tongue, tasting her in desperate movements that were clumsy and rushed. His arms, heavy and muscular, crushing her up into the firm lines of his plastron covered chest and stomach.

"Please, I'm sorry. Please," his voice was thick and hoarse. The tone rumbled across her skin, sinking through it to vibrate her bones until they tingled. "I ain't no animal, I can be good to you, please, please -" he husked, repeating himself. He was panting between words, "Just . . . let me . . . let me . . . show you."

She felt his thick length, hot and solid, searching, prodding against her inner thigh urgently struggling to figure out what to do next as he grunted and groaned into her hair. That rumbling sound reverberating between them, making their flesh vibrate in sync. Rocking through her down to her core. A flash of mixed emotions rushed through her. She would take him. Oh yes, she would. She felt her desire bloom and heat within her. Her hips rose involuntarily, inviting him closer to his primal destination. She wanted him. Wanted him to do this. Had wanted to since that moment on the roof when she first kissed him. Had considered it night after night as she stealthily watched him, observing his movements from afar. Curious and enchanted and ignited by his very existence. It was wild and bizarre and wonderful. He was everything fragile and magical left in this world for her. He was her lifeline to sanity.

But this wasn't right. This wasn't the time. Not now. Not for this. She was broken. She was used and trash. She wasn't good. She was bad. Had been bad most of her life. And she was allowing the murderer of her own brother to seduce and influence her with material extravagance and promises of an easy life. No. She couldn't do this. Raphael was something unique and precious in this world and she would not taint him. Not him. Never him.

"N-No! No, Raphael, no!"

For a few desperate seconds she thought that he wouldn't listen to her command. That he'd take her.

"S-Stop. Stop it. Right now," she said, breathlessly into the side of his head.

His arms crushed her tightly before his muscles all at once released and went slack. She felt him shudder. Then once more before he was still; laying on top of her; breath shallow and gasping near her ear. With measured care, he slowly rolled his shoulder up and back, sliding his arm out from under her; freeing her. With hesitant movements, she scooted to the side, watching him from the corner of her eye as he wrapped his arm around the top of his head, laying still and flat on the mattress, face hidden.

Her mouth opened, but she had nothing to say. She stumbled out of the room; found her clothes and threw them on. She had to get away from him before she hurt him anymore. She peered back into the room to see him still there. He hadn't moved. Face crushed in a frown, she grabbed her jacket and boots and fled from the motel room. Everything was fucked up. Everything. It was all her fault.

As she pulled open the door to exit, she heard a soft strangled sound behind her. She turned her head but couldn't look, couldn't bear to see the destruction she was leaving behind because of her selfishness. She stood there a moment longer, torn as to what to do, feeling like running back in there and throwing herself on top of him, begging him to forgive her and covering his body with kisses, determined to make it better, somehow. Somehow. He choked again and she knew he was fighting to be quiet. It was killing her. But she was no hero. She couldn't save her brother and she couldn't save herself. How could she fix this? She was nothing but a coward.

She turned. Then ran from the sound of his muffled sobbing. Burning tears finally found their escape as they trailed down her flushed cheeks.

* * *

**A/N:** This was a bear to write. It's hard to love when you hate yourself. Complications abound. It's about to get much worse. Please take a minute to leave your thoughts/comments/questions/fears/deepest desires/hidden fears XD


	9. Ch 9 - Centripetally Driven

_"With no lovin' in our souls_

_and no money in our coats_

_you can't say we're satisfied. . ."_ – Angie, The Rolling Stones

* * *

**Chapter 9 – Centripetally Driven**

* * *

Casey strode down the cement walkway. A bouquet of mixed flowers gripped tightly in one fist. He pinched the cigarette between thumb and finger and flicked it over the balcony as he approached the room. His footsteps faltered as he noticed the door was ajar. Using the toe of his boot, he nudged it open.

"Raph?" he whispered.

The door creaked inward a foot before it caught on something. Casey stepped inside and stopped.

"Holy fuck," he muttered. "What the hell did he do to her?"

The room was trashed. The table where the television set had rested was overturned and the set was face down, surrounded by the broken glass of the screen. The mattress and bed was upended. Piles of blankets mixed with the broken remnants of the chair. The material was shredded, leaving puffs of yellowed stuffing and bits of foam all over the floor. Stomach sinking, Casey stepped over the curtain rod and shuffled through and over the littered floor.

"Raph?" he called. "You still here, buddy?" He peered to the left into the empty bathroom. Broken glass crunched beneath his boot as he stepped over the shredded remains of the chair's cushion. He swallowed dryly then moved to the right towards the small alcove that made up the kitchen.

In the doorway, he froze. Casey's mouth fell open. "Christ, what the hell happened?" He ran a hand through his long hair, resting it on the back of his neck.

The kitchen was trashed as well. The refrigerator door was open, the meager contents were thrown out and scattered all over the tiles. Broken glass, food containers and various liquids were spilled all over the place. The wire shelves were hanging half out of the fridge. Casey's eyes roved around the room. It was clear where bottles of beer where thrown against the wall. The table and chairs were overturned and the metal legs of the chairs were bent at odd angles. In the wall above where the table had once sat, was a huge indention. The dry wall was exposed, damaged with a large gash. From the powdery evidence, it appeared that he had used the chair to slam against the wall several times.

Casey had a moment of panic as he considered the possibility that his friend had been ambushed. He glanced around again with wide eyes. His stomach sank even as his heart galloped. No. This was no attack. Casey had his share of temper tantrums both his own and as witness to and victim of, his father's. Everything pointed to the fact that Raphael had done this. All of this. But . . . But _why_?

A voice at the front door had Casey jumping and turning.

"Holy Mother!"

Casey stumbled back into the living space, bouquet still clutched in one fist. He knew that Raph was inexperienced with women and decided to give his clueless pal a little help in the romance department. He'd spent his last twenty dollars on this bunch of flowers and had intended to give it to Raph to give to Deborah. He never expected to come back to find this. He only hoped his friend hadn't killed the girl.

LaKeesha stood in the doorway. Her face a mask of fury and horror. She held up her hands indicating the room's condition.

Casey gripped desperately as his mind raced, he laughed nervously, "Uh, sorry, babe. I-I sort of . . ." he stumbled and LaKeesha crossed her arms with a shake of her head.

"I know. I heard ya across the parkin' lot. Screamin' and hollerin' like a demon."

Casey slowly licked his lips, picturing the turmoil his friend must have been in and feeling bad because there was nothing he could do for him now. Then again. There was something he could do. What they always did for each other when needed. Get his back.

"What the hell got into you?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "You ain't usin' are ya? 'Cuz I draw the line there. You usin' - you out."

Casey rubbed the back of his sweating neck. He glanced down at the flowers in his hand. Inspiration struck. He held them up to her. She cocked an eyebrow at them, unimpressed, waiting for his answer.

"N-No! I ain't no druggie-scumbag, _like my dad_," he added under his breath. "Look, I-I'm sorry, Keesha, babe. I-I ran out and got these for ya, to apologize for wreckin' the place."

He gave her his best puppy-dog eyes as he kept his head lowered, and blue eyes on her. She pressed her shapely lips together; her eyes looking from the flowers to the room. She sighed. With a sharp flick of her wrist she held out her hand. Casey stumbled over the blankets as he handed the bouquet to her. She took the flowers and sniffed them.

Then, tilting her head she said, "You gonna clean this up. All of it. You understand me?"

Casey nodded once, "Yes, ma'am," he said with a half-smile and eyes twinkling. He turned and began to pick up the blanket. His mind racing as he tried to reason out what might have gone down with Raph to make him this upset.

"Uh, hang on there."

He paused, a look of confusion on his face. She raised her eyebrows up and pointed a delicately manicured nail in his direction.

"Off." He blinked at her in confusion. "That shirt." She snapped her fingers.

Casey's eyes darted to the side. Then he huffed out a small laugh. "Yes, ma'am." He reached over and behind his head and grabbed the back of his t-shirt. He pulled it up and off, balling it up and tossing it to one side.

"M-hm. That's better," she said and leaned against the wall, sniffing the flowers again all the while keeping her eyes glued to Casey as he applied his toned and muscular frame to the task at hand.

Casey hid his worry and concern beneath a flirtatious smirk as he gathered the blankets and shredded bits of mattress up in his arms. _Raph, what the hell happened, buddy?_

* * *

The Mistress crawled along the walls of the sewer, plotting who to attack next. Using her ability to sense the males that dwelled here in the darkness; she calculated her revenge on Leonardo and his family. One of them caught her attention. She knew him. She remembered his heated thoughts revolving around a certain human girl. Yes. He would be her next target. Suddenly a bright flash of pain lanced her. Her body constricted as it cramped. She solidified and dropped from the ceiling into the rank water below; her form flickering like bad reception as pain rippled through her.

The source of the pain . . . what? It was a noise. A sound echoed through the tunnels. A broken noise that reverberated through her body and the walls around her. A howl of anguish and despair that evoked memories of the other one in her mind. The most recent man she had tamed and bent to her will while banished here in this dimension. Only he had a similar expanse of desperate emptiness within him. So much so that she had worried about controlling him; had settled on guiding him with gentle persuasion instead of outright dominance out of fear of what was within him, Oroku Saki.

Only the darkness of complete despair could penetrate her and render her power impotent. For she was the burning, consuming light of passion and power. The thick dream of seduction, the swoon of sinful indulgence, the promise of power over all. Lust in all its forms fueled her and fed her. Only Despair could eclipse her power. Only Despair could swallow and consume it; leaving nothing in its place; nothing but the nihilistic expanse of emptiness.

Her golden eyes darted around the shadowy tunnel feeling for the first time a hint of panic. If that entity had crossed into this realm everything would have been destroyed. Everything. She knew that hadn't happened. He couldn't have come here. Not wholly. However, Despair crossed dimensions by degrees; worked its way through humans in a way that she never could quite mimic and it was a dangerous thing to get too close to. Despair was a hungry entity in her dimension. Nothing fed it more than the ripe, nubile flesh of passion. Panting, her bottom teeth gleaming in the dim light, she scrambled up onto her hands and knees. If Despair had not come through and she was sure he hadn't, then someone near was channeling the entity's essence unwittingly.

She closed her eyes and concentrated; searching for the source. Her mind sped through the darkness. Then halted as it focused on the source. There. Leonardo's brother. She saw him; huddled in the darkness, arms cradling his head; face wet with spilling, burning tears. She heard his broken, hoarse, gasping sobs. He was filled with rage and hurt. Filled with despair and yearning so potent and painful it made her physical form sharply intake a breath. The Mistress focused deeper, intrigued. Then she heard it. She heard his heart ardently calling a name over and over and over again. Her eyes snapped open.

"I will have my revenge!"

It did not matter that Leonardo's brother was consumed with despair at the moment. She found the weakness within him and would turn him to her will. For in the center of his despair, she felt the bleeding need, raw and vulnerable at his center. She saw into his deepest, most intense wish. Heard the voice of his heart calling out fervidly to his singular, most precious love. A smile, wicked and pleased, spread across her face. Her golden eyes glinted. She could use that against him, as she always did. He was no match for her. Now that she knew what he craved. She would proceed with her plans to tear the rest of Leonardo's family apart. With an echoing laugh, she vanished.

* * *

Donatello looked at the clock on the wall as he shuffled into the bathroom, getting close to dinner and Raph was still gone. He huffed as he climbed into the shower. The water was steaming and warm in a few seconds and mentally he thanked himself for fixing the water heater two weeks ago. It would be some of the only gratitude he'd be on the receiving end of around here anyway. He lowered his head and let the water rush over the back of his neck and shell, feeling it wash over the backs of his aching shoulders. He rubbed his left one again and grimaced. If it were hurting before, it was really aching now.

Standing hunched over his unconscious father for over an hour, stitching the gash in his head and treating the various other wounds then having to patch up his brother had taken its toll; on his body and his nerves. Leo had attacked Master Splinter with one of Michelangelo's nun-chucks, but it was soon apparent that their father had initiated the fight. Leonardo was covered in contusions, cuts and scratches. Donatello raised his face, eyes pinched tightly closed. The water sprayed him mercilessly in the face. The tiny droplets stung and felt good at the same time.

It was hard to imagine, but his brother was also apparently strangled by the evidence of bruising on his throat. He was currently unconscious and by the labor of his breathing, Don was sure he had bruised, if not broken ribs as well. He leaned on his elbows as he brought the palms of his hands to his face. How did it get to this point? As it poured down his arms and legs, the water stung the superficial cuts covering his flesh from the fall from April's window. His mind wandered and guilt gnawed at him. _Me and my big mouth_, he thought glumly. Not for the first time, he wondered about their relationship and if the fact that she would go no further physically with him was a bad sign. He shook his head. No. They could make this work. He would make it work. She was worth it. She was everything to him. He would just have to be more patient. His toe poked at the drain in front of him. The water pooled around his feet as he stared down at it. He decided to call her and apologize as soon as he got done in here.

Lathering up the soap, he worked it into the gashes and scraps, cleansing them, finally; clenching his jaw and huffing through his nose; eyes watering with the discomfort. But did she really have to kick him out that window? What if he fell funny and really hurt himself? he thought as he rubbed his sore shoulder, frowning. Was he really being that mean by what he'd said? He blinked and angrily, he shut off the water with an abrupt twist of his wrist. He stepped out, wrapping himself roughly in a large towel. A light tapping came on the door. He reached over and cracked it open. Michelangelo was standing just outside.

"Hey," Don said softly, feeling his anger dissipate at the sight of his younger brother's concerned face. "Something the matter?"

"Oh, uh, no. Not really. I mean, Leo's still out and Master Splinter is still asleep in his room, if that's what you mean."

Don bobbed his head once.

"But, uh, on the other hand, the fact that my brother and dad nearly killed each other sort of makes me want to scream," he said and his bottom lip quivered a little. Their eyes met and locked. Brown and steady, blue and glassy. "Donnie, you gotta fix this." He blinked and continued on earnestly as Donatello's shoulders dropped and he stepped out from the bathroom; towel around his waist. "I mean, isn't there something you can do?"

With a sigh, Don said over his shoulder, "Like _drug_ Master Splinter?" He chuckled bitterly and the sound was hollow in the room.

Mikey's steps faltered. His face dropped. He was hoping for something closer to a cure for their father's mental condition as opposed to a temporary fix. Don's sarcasm seemed cruel and unnecessary to him.

"Look, I want to talk to Leonardo before I give him anything else, okay?" He placed a hand on Mikey's shoulder. The younger brother wouldn't look at him. "It's gonna be okay, Mikey. They're banged up, but it's nothing serious. I bet things just got out of hand right before we got back." He released his brother's shoulder. "Why don't you grab something to eat and then watch a movie or something?"

Michelangelo looked around the room glumly. He shrugged. "We didn't practice today. Not even once," he said sounding younger than his years and lost.

Don dropped his chin. Things were not normal around here, in other words. "It's okay," he repeated. "Leo's in no shape for training anyways." The look on his brother's face at that statement had him backpedaling, "I-I mean, Leo wouldn't mind if we skip." he said with a nonchalant wave of his hand. "W-We'll be back on track in a day or two," he falsely reassured him; knowing that Leo would need more than that to recover before training. He smiled warmly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. His effort went unnoticed by his brother who was not looking at him.

Mikey turned away. "Okay," he said simply.

Don watched him go into the kitchen and retrieve a bowl of rice from the fridge. He crossed the room to his bedroom and quietly closed the door behind him. Donatello moved towards the room they used as an infirmary where Leo was recuperating. He peered inside to find his brother breathing in a steady, if not slightly labored way. It seemed he had transitioned from being unconscious to just sleeping. That was a good sign. He walked inside, throwing the bulk of the towel over his sore shoulder. He reached out and placed a hand on Leo's forehead. No fever. A little clammy. He gazed down at Leonardo and shook his head. Despite feeling bad for his brother's condition, he was still angry with him for getting violent with Master Splinter. That and fighting with him earlier when he was clearly in the right.

"You're not always the one who knows what's best, Leo," he said quietly at his unconscious brother with more than a little bitterness in his voice. With that he turned away and headed towards his lab and his computer. He decided that he'd do a little research on mental illness and see if there was anything new he could try for his father; doubting that very much, but still determined to give it a go. There was nothing else he could do at this point. He felt restless and though it was dinner time, he found he had no appetite.

* * *

Leonardo blinked. His vision was blurred and for a moment the room spun. Distantly, he felt the ghost of a migraine creeping around the edges of his head. But it was a far away feeling, not fully realized. Like he was on the verge of the pain, but just hadn't reached it yet. He was seated at the kitchen table without remembering how he arrived there. Mikey placed a plate of green eggs and ham in front of him. He blinked down at it just as Donnie and Raph pulled out chairs next to him and sat.

"Is this a joke?" Donnie asked.

Mikey laughed from the stove. "You never know. Maybe he'll eat it all. You know he's got an appetite that's like a bottomless pit. Don'tcha now, Leo? Always hungry for more."

Leo blinked at Michelangelo and saw a smile on his younger brother's face that seemed stretched and distorted, giving him a demonic appearance. He twisted to find Donnie and Raph staring at him with expectation written in their eyes. He suddenly felt warm and uncomfortable. He glanced down at his plate and blinked in shock. Instead of the green eggs and ham was now a bowl of what looked vaguely like vanilla pudding.

He pressed his palm against the edge of the table and slid his chair back. "I don't want this."

Raphael was suddenly standing next to him. He turned and slowly dipped his fingers into the bowl. His fingers twirled through it. He scooped up the pudding and considered it thoughtfully. Leo watched from where he sat as Raphael brought his slowly twitching fingers, covered in the sticky substance, up to Leonardo's mouth. It smelled strange and pungent, musky and like something else. His mouth watered in spite of himself and his face grew warm with the familiar scent. His heart started to pound and the distant migraine pulsed like thunder in the background of his head.

"Yeah you do. You like this. This creamy shit, don't you."

Before he could reply, Raph shoved his fingers at him, smearing his lips with the viscous substance. His tongue inadvertently lashed out and he tasted it; tasted her on his mouth. Leonardo recoiled away with a gasping yelp, smacking at his brother's hand And wiping his mouth with the other. Breathing heavy, his eyes snapped from Raph to the bowl, instead of pudding, it was now a pile of squirming worms. With a shout of alarm, he scrambled to his feet abruptly, knocking the chair back. Raph circled the fallen chair and gripped him by his shoulders. He met his brother's intense gaze.

"Tell us. Tell us, Leo. Don't leave us in the dark no more."

His mouth dropped open and Donnie was next to him with Mikey just behind. "We want to know, Leo. No more secrets. We're brothers. You can't dishonor us like this. You have to trust us."

Abashed, his eyes dropped. "Y-You're right. I don't know what I was thinking."

"You're ashamed. Who wouldn't be?" Donatello said and shrugged. "I mean, it's pretty pathetic, if you ask me."

"Wha . . .?"

Raphael released him and chuckled, taking a step back. He leaned on his thighs as his chuckling turned into guffaws. Nervously, Leo looked around as Mikey crossed his arms with a smirk on his face. Don was watching Raph. He turned to Leo and giggled. Leo felt his mouth turn up in a bemused smile despite his apprehensive feelings that something was definitely off here. He couldn't help but chuckle along with them, their amusement catching like fire to dry kindling.

"Wh-What's so funny?"

In between fading burst of laughter, Raph said, "Y-You . . . are!"

"M-Me? What did I do?" Leo asked with a wavering frown at the edges of his smile and looked around at his brothers, still chuckling and giggling, wiping at their eyes. He chuckled along, nervously.

"Look, it's funny, bro," Mikey filled in. "I mean, you're supposed to be our leader. Right? The brave one." Leo felt a surge of fear at Mikey's choice of wording. He took a half-step back, his weak smile froze on his face.

"No. Let me tell it," Raph interrupted. He turned his face back to Leo and though he was still smiling there was a sharp edge to it; a hard glint in his eye that made Leo take another half-step back. "While I was getting my brains beatin' out by a fuckin' gorilla in front of the entire Foot Clan last year as sport –" The uncertain smile fell from Leo's face. ". . . you were up on the roof . . ."

"Gettin' freaky with that hot babe!" Mikey piped in. He brought his fists out and then back to his sides and pumped his hips suggestively over and over.

Raph ignored the interruption and went on, ". . . getting fucked by a sex goddess. That's your big secret. That you've kept from us – and it's fuckin' hysterical if you ask me." His brothers nodded in full agreement.

Leonardo's breath started to come in shallow and fast. Hot humiliation washed through him as his stomach turned to ice and churned. "It . . . wasn't like th-that . . . I didn't . . . I didn't want t-to . . ."

Donatello shook his head, "Pathetic. Just pathetic."

Raph gestured to Leo with two hands. "Listen to 'em, will ya? Still stutterin' like an idiot over it." His face snapped back to Leo and now his expression only held disgust. "You got laid and a year later you're moanin' about it like it was a _bad_ thing."

Leonardo felt the back of his neck heat up. His flushed face burned with searing humiliation as his stomach twisted. How did they find out? Did April tell them? She _promised_ him she never would. She promised. He knew they'd never understand, but teasing him? Making it into some sick joke? Why were they mocking what happened to him? Didn't they realize he'd never . . . never even kissed a girl before the Mistress took him and used him like that. Tearing away his innocence; rending it from him in one violent stroke; never to be restored again. Leaving his honor broken and forever soiled. He took another step back away from his brothers; feeling his knees shake and his queasy stomach drop into his legs.

They . . . they didn't understand what it was like; being pinned by those creatures, feeling completely helpless, then having the Mistress seduce him despite his efforts to fight it, the humiliation and desire . . . he could take being beaten, being tortured and taunted . . . but what she did . . . what she took from him . . . and worse - how he reacted . . . the deep, cloying shame and then the devastating electric pain just as he . . .

"I, on the other hand, got my leg broke and my ass nearly beaten to death." He took two steps forward, crowding Leonardo who could only look around helplessly at this brother's expressions of disgust and disappointment. "So what was so awful about it, eh _Fearless_? Didn't you like it?"

He grabbed Leo by the arms and pulled him closer. His eyes flashed gold and his voice changed. "Don't lie to me. I felt you come," he purred the words out; only a mere inch away from Leonardo's paling face. Leo's knees buckled as he dropped away and scrambled back onto his bottom, horrified.

"N-No! I . . . I couldn't help it . . . Sh-She . . . I j-just . . ."

They clustered around and stood over him; their derisive laughter and cruel comments rained down, crushing him to the floor. "Doesn't know how lucky he is." "You wanted it and you know it." "Can't handle something as simple as sex. Pathetic, really." "Cryin' at night, hmpf, Fearless, what a fuckin' _baby_. You pussy."

He covered his face in shame, curling deeper into a fetal position, his arms going up over the top of his head. He knew it. He knew they'd mock him and wouldn't understand what he'd gone through. What he was wrestling with: the never-ending spiral he was caught in; of desire, pain, guilt, shame, and the lingering desire for more.

This couldn't be real. _April how could you? You promised!_

. . .

Leo brows puckered and his sweating head shifted against the pillow. A soft moan of distress rose from his lips. The frightened sound went unheard and thus, unanswered, in the lair.

* * *

Donatello draped the towel over a peg on the wall. He sat on his computer chair and scooted it closer to the monitor. He propped one cheek against the heel of his hand. He hit the space-bar on the keyboard and the computer blinked to life. He tapped his finger restlessly against the table; his gaze traveling down to the shell cell next to him. It seemed to glare back at him accusingly. He sighed and with a roll of his eyes, picked it up; flipping it open. He really shouldn't put this off. It would only make things worse.

"Might as well get this over with," he grumbled, feeling exhausted and not up to dealing with anymore drama or stress, but determined to at least offer his girl-friend a decent apology for his rude comment. He stared down at his lap as the phone rang, once, twice when a pain shot through his head. It was a sharp pulling sensation like something was being dragged and torn free from his consciousness. He grimaced and winced, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. _Yow! What the hell was that?_

A noise at the door caught his attention. Thinking it was Mikey, he glanced up, mouth ready to ask him what he needed. When he looked over his shoulder, he nearly dropped the phone, jumping in surprise. He fumbled with it as it bounced between his fingers, distantly he thought he heard someone pick up and assumed it was her voicemail. He finally caught it and snapped the cover shut, disconnecting the line.

"A-April! Wha-what are you doing here? I-I mean, I was just calling you . . . t-to . . . t-to . . ."

April stood up straight from where she leaned on the door's frame. She turned around and closed the heavy metal door to the lab. Reaching up she twisted the knob to lock it.

* * *

**A/N**: Centripetal – draws towards, pulls inward

Raph . . . and Oh, Donatello.


	10. Ch 10 - Careful What You Wish For

**A/N:** Cocoagurl - this is for you. I hope your Mom feels better and everything works out. I've been where you are - family in the hospital for many different reasons - none of them good. So! I went straight to work on this chapter last night after getting your message and wanted to dedicate this to you, but um, well I dunno if its really an _appropriate_ thing to dedicate to _anyone_. heh heh So let's just say this is for you. To get your mind off things.

Terraform - I think you may enjoy this thrill ride as well in particular. It features you're favorite genius-boy.

Oh yeah, and please readers, don't kill me! eep!

* * *

**Chapter 10 – Careful What You Wish For**

* * *

April was not in her usual outfit of comfy, but casual jeans and top. She was wearing a sheer white dress with light purple flowers dotted over the surface. It had short, loose sleeves and came just down to her mid-thigh. Don swallowed. It looked suspiciously close to a dress he'd dreamt of her wearing once. His cheeks tinted pink as he remembered suddenly more details of that particular dream.

Donatello blinked as he watched her lock the door to his lab. The click resounded through the silence of the room with a finality that seemed disproportionately ominous for some reason. He decided it was the fear of her still being angry with him that made him feel that way. That was it. That and the fact that he was sitting here without any of his gear on, not even his mask, he realized with a start. He felt his face with his fingertips. Not having it on left him feeling exposed and vulnerable. Feeling the need to cover his body with something despite the fact that his gear normally didn't cover much; he cast about the room for something, but other than the damp towel, he had nothing. She'd seen them all without their masks on, but it was rare. Well, there was nothing he could do about it now, his clean stuff was all in his room; with his spare equipment in the dojo with his brothers' stuff.

He cleared his throat. "Oh, uh, privacy. Yeah. Good idea," he said raising a finger only to drop it back down onto his lap.

Pushing away at his discomfort, he realized that this was a perfect opportunity for him to apologize. That's why he was calling her a moment ago. He rubbed his eyebrow roughly with his finger and thumb and fidgeted. He took in a deep breath, but as he opened his mouth to begin, she turned around and smiled at him, hands still held behind her; blue eyes gleaming. There was an unfamiliar look in her expression that sent a wave of unease through him. He wondered if maybe she _was_ still angry with him about the remark from earlier. Slowly, he closed his mouth; deciding to follow her lead.

He watched her tilt her head as her gaze moved from him to the shelves and cabinets lining the walls around them, down to the operating table and spare cot in the corner next to the metal table where spread all over it were maps and other papers. She was looking at this place as if she'd never been in here before. A lone metal chair sat in front of the table that seemed to catch her attention.

She shot him a sidelong look as she stepped further into the room. Her hands went up to the pony tail in her hair and she pulled the elastic down, freeing her copper locks. No. She didn't seem angry. It was something else. The feathered ends fell around her face as she pulled the headband off and tossed it to the desk in front of Donatello, onto his keyboard. His eyes widened in horror. She knew how protective he was about his tech. It took him forever to find and then piece together this keyboard and computer from his scavenging trips to the junk yard. It wasn't exactly fun wading through the piles of human refuse to locate a mother board that wasn't completely destroyed.

"_Hey_!" Then, catching himself, he quickly said, "Er, I mean, _oops_," he chuckled hollowly, "Let me get that for you," he said and frowned as he picked up the hair accessory and moved it off his keyboard to one side. _What the hell_, he thought angrily.

She hmm'd and he used his toes to spin the chair around to see what she was doing behind him. She glanced at him over her shoulder and waved with her fingers. Donatello lifted his hand and gave a slight chopping motion in return before dropping his hand back down. He shifted in his seat. Donatello swallowed and blinked before gathering himself, pushing away his apprehension; logically reasoning with himself that the stress of the events of the morning with their fight and the shock of the afternoon were messing with his sense of perception. He just realized that he needed to fill her in on the details. Then he'd apologize to her.

"April, you won't believe what happened when I got back . . ." he started. He dropped his eyes to the floor. The gravity of the situation hit him and he felt his chest squeeze with disbelief and denial. It was almost as if he were reliving the moment he stepped down into the living room from the turnstiles with Mikey. He shook his head. He looked up to find her standing before him. Part of him wanted to reach out and embrace her, seeking comfort, but knew better. He restrained himself and instead rubbed the tops of his thighs with nervous energy. "I can barely believe it myself. Master Splinter's getting worse, as I feared. He had another episode when I was with you and Leo -"

April shook her head immediately at the mention of his brother's name. He stopped talking as she pressed a finger to his bottom lip, pushing it upwards, shushing him. His wide brown eyes danced back and forth between hers. Softly she said, "Let's not talk about that, baby." She pressed with her finger once more before she released his mouth and turned back to the shelves near the table and metal chair.

Don's eyes blinked hard. "Uh . . ." he said, mind blanking. "Excuse me?"

He stuck a finger into his ear and wiggled it around. Was he hearing things now? He gave his head a shake. Did . . . did he just hear April call him, _baby_? The back of his neck grew hot. Was she teasing him, now? Is that how she was going to get back at him for his rude comment earlier? He knew she was probably angry with him, but this was going a little far.

They'd had their share of disagreements, but they had always kept things polite; civil. This morning was about as bad as it ever got between them. April had a temper and she was quick to lay everything on the table. Whereas Donatello would often give himself a little space from the situation to cool down. Usually it didn't take long. And any snippy comments he might have made during their argument, he would readily apologize for and April would quickly accept it and everything would smooth over and fall back into routine once again.

He felt a wave of heat and cold wash through him. He knew that she had a temper and was at times willful and stubborn . . . but this was a little much. This was not like her at all. This was almost cruel in a cold way. It was simply unfair to use affectionate terms like that as a weapon against him. To tease him that way. It was just mean. And petty of her to be acting so childish.

He watched her; feeling hurt and angry, confused and tired from the day. Tired from all the emotional strain he'd been put through in the past eight hours. She raised up on her tiptoes and reached up to a shelf. She pulled down a large roll of silver duct tape. She set it on the table with a thud and turned to face him.

That expression was back on her face. The one she had when she first came into the lab. He knew what it was now: calculating. That's what it was. Like he was a math problem she was debating on how to most effectively break him down and manipulate to get the intended results. He felt better now that he'd pinpointed the look on her face, but that was quickly followed by anxiety. Donatello's throat worked. Why was she looking at him like that?

"April, a-are you f-feeling okay?"

He glanced back at the locked door before turning his attention back to his girlfriend and her strange behavior. This was bizarre to say the least. And if she was just being vindictive . . . well, he wouldn't stand for it. He had more dignity than that. He looked at her and slightly raised his chin, defiantly. He opened his mouth to question her again when she unfolded her arms. With one hand she indicated the chair next to her. Donatello blinked at it, dumbfounded.

"Sit." When he didn't move, she pointed at it, and clarified, "Here. Now."

With weak knees and not having a clue as to why he'd even listen to her condescending command in the first place, he stood up. If she wanted to be mean, then fine. Maybe he deserved it. Maybe if he just went along with it, she'd get it out of her system and then they could make up and get back to normal once more. Hesitantly, and ducking his head meekly, he sidestepped quickly and then sat down; hands cradled on his lap; feeling awkward and foolish. Whatever this was about, he only hoped it was over soon. He looked up at the ceiling and decided to take the situation in hand.

"About . . . earlier, at your apartment," he wanted to clear the air and hopefully end this confounding encounter with her. "I-I really shouldn't have said what I did." He dropped his head as he went on, "It was uncalled for. I was just talking, er, blurting out actually, whatever came into my head. Meaning to indicate that I really wasn't thinking at all when I spoke. You see? It was a misunderstanding. A-A mistake. Leo had upset me with his typical overbearing bossiness and I . . . th-then . . ."

The distinctive sound of duct tape being pulled from the roll stopped him in mid-sentence. He jumped as he felt her warm fingers snake around his bicep.

"April?" he breathed and looked over his shoulder up at her. She smiled down at him and proceeded with pulling his arm back towards the back of the chair. He tensed; frowned. "Wh-What are you doing?"

He yanked his arm free, a little more roughly than he initially meant to. But mixed emotions were racing through him and he didn't feel like playing some sort of game here. Not after the day he'd been put through. He was exasperated by her behavior and confused, not a pleasant mix for someone who was content with puzzling out challenges with a clear mind and having all the answers. He didn't want to play around anymore. Not after the exhausting afternoon of patching up his family's physical and emotional wounds, all while trying to piece together what had happened between his brother and father without anyone being able to explain; not to mention trying to figure out how they could avoid such a situation in the future that would please everyone involved. Because he knew, in the bottom of his logical and realistic heart, that Splinter was never going to recover. That his episodes were bound to only get worse. Depression pulled at him. Despair hovered around the edges of his heart.

April reached out and caressed his face. "Don't feel like that," she said softly. "So bleak."

He didn't quite know what she was referring to and had a strange suspicion suddenly that she could read his thoughts. He brushed the idea away as ridiculous. Now he was getting paranoid on top of everything else. That's just what this family would need at this point.

She dropped her hand from his face when she didn't receive a reaction to the gesture. He was caught up in his own mind. This would not do. She looked away and huffed through her nose. Then she leaned down and whispered into his ear. "I think I know what you need."

His attention focused sharply back to the present. His mouth went dry and his heart began to beat harder. "Wh-What I need?" he repeated to the room in front of him in a quiet voice.

His eyes dropped closed as he felt her fingers start to knead the tops of his shoulders. His head lulled forward as she rubbed and massaged the back of his neck, reaching down with her thumbs behind the rim of his shell to dig in between his shoulder blades. He groaned in pleasure as her fingers pushed against the sore, aching muscles and tendons. She worked into the knots of stress, mashing them into oblivion with her determined fingers and thumbs. He panted and shifted his shoulders as she worked them.

This was more like it! It was heaven. It was bliss! Then he felt guilty. Guilty for thinking she was teasing him; for thinking she was petty and mean. How could he even think such thoughts about his precious princess? He blinked up at her over his shoulder; eyes full of loving gratitude and infinite forgiveness. "Why don't you sit down and let me do your neck, now?" he offered sweetly. Eager to repay the tender act of affection in kind.

April just shook her head. He wasn't sure if he should feel disappointed or not as she continued her delicious ministrations on his neck. He shoved away the budding irritation that nagged him. He decided to simply enjoy the attention. It had been an awful day. And this was the perfect way to bring it to a close. His heart warmed with gratitude. She was the best girlfriend, ever. He felt her shift her weight behind him. She reached forward and slid the sides of her hands along his jawline, pulling back the skin as she wove her fingers along and up and back, until she released him, only to do it again. The chair creaked beneath him as he leaned back into her hands with a sigh.

"Thank you _so_ much, April. You have no idea how good that feels." He huffed a small laugh, "I don't mean to complain, but I really, sort of, banged up my shoulder on that fall from your window."

In one swift move, she slid around him; throwing her leg over his lap, straddling him. The movement caused any other words he was about to say to come to a screeching halt. The unsaid sentences collided in his mind and caused a pile up that rendered him unable make anything other than a choked, unintelligible noise. Her dress hitched up, bunching at her hips. He felt her naked thighs pressing against his bare flesh and his heart tripped. He became aware that not just her legs were bare and pressed against him. He swallowed dryly and continued to work his mouth without producing any sound. Her hands were on either side of his neck. She leveled a smoldering look at him. His eyes widened and his heart leapt into his throat.

"Poor baby," she purred and as she did, she ground against him. Awareness of her body's heat and the serious lack of undergarments beneath her dress sent a bolt of terror and lust through him. His face instantly turned a deep crimson and his heart galloped.

"Uh, ah, ohho, uhhum," Don stammered incoherently, then closed his eyes and coughed and cleared his throat into his shoulder. He whimpered as she dragged her lower region against his again. Insistently. His body reacted to the primal invitation almost violently. A wave of powerful desire made his hips buck, but with some effort, he remained concealed and tucked painfully within his sheath of skin. His hands went to her waist to still her movements. What was she _doing_? Was she serious? Did this mean that she finally wanted to – he couldn't hardly make himself even think the thought - take things into a more physical level? But . . . now? _Now?_ Blinking rapidly, almost too shy to look her in the face, he glanced at her before sweeping his eyes back to the side to the floor.

"_April_," he whispered out in a choked voice. And that softly spoken word asked what he couldn't put into words, _what are you doing?_

"I want you."

His eyes snapped to her face. Not daring to believe he actually heard her utter those three magic words, he stammered, "B-B-But . . . I th-thought you wanted s-some time t-to . . ." his words trailed off as he fell silent and his mind screamed at him to shut the FUCK UP! His mouth snapped shut. _She'd said this to you before,_ he reminded himself with a bitter twist in his stomach. He clenched his jaw. Was he going to let her tease him again, this time with more of her empty declarations?

She moaned and rubbed the bottom of herself roughly against his lower plastron, again. His mind blanked as his body ignited. White noise replaced coherent thought. His breath caught in his throat where it was squeezed out from him in a whimper. The heady scent of her arousal hit him and sent him reeling. Her scent was like wild flowers and honey. It wasn't one that he recognized, but he dismissed the thought even as the intoxicating scent overwhelmed him with its inviting aroma, its promise of sensual delight. His mouth watered and he swallowed. She slid herself against him once more. And with the third time being the charm, he shuddered violently and groaned, pitching forward. His fingers dug painfully into her hips as he dragged her down, holding her pinned there, tightly against him. His muscular arms were taunt, shoulders quivering, head down; he panted with his eyes clamped shut.

_She wants me. She wants me. Oh god, she finally wants me to be with her._ The image of Master Splinter lying unconscious broke through his heated thoughts, dousing them with the ice water of reality. Slowly he shook his head to one side then to the other with a jerk. Logic battled back primal instincts and won, but the victory was tenuous at best.

"N-No. We can't. I don't . . . I don't know if th-this is the right t-time to be doing this, April," he choked out the sentence as if saying it were killing him.

Dimly, he felt her hands press onto the front of his shoulders. Reluctantly, he felt her slowly pulling away. A furious voice rose up in his mind. It screamed, _What have you done? Fool! Take your chance while you have it!_ Dread sent a bolt of regret through him. His face shot up and even as she slid off him, his fingers would not let go of her.

_"Wait!"_

She stopped; cocked an eyebrow at him. But as he stared into her knowing eyes, his mouth opened and closed, saying nothing. He was torn in two. He couldn't just have sex in here - not with his father and brother recuperating right in the other room. Who does something like that? Not to mention that Raph could be home at any moment. Mikey wasn't even asleep, he was sure. His mind raced and spun. Heady desire and longing made him feel weak and dizzy.

What the hell was he thinking? She finally wanted him. And he was turning her down. Was he completely insane?! His brother and father were fine. They were resting. Didn't he do enough for them by patching their wounds and caring for them despite his own injuries needing attention – as he always did in the past? Putting his needs aside to act as care-taker to the rest of this clan? And Mikey wouldn't bother them and who the hell knew when his hulking brother would come home. He might be out all night! It wouldn't be the first time!

His dread turned to frantic terror as she turned her face away as if making up her mind and moved off him.

"No! W-Wait, please, April. I'm _sorry_! I d-don't know what I-I'm doing . . ." His voice cracked as he tried to explain his dilemma and she coldly stood up before him. His hands were extended out in front of his body, grasping at the air where a moment ago he held her waist; the barest piece of the material of her dress was still held between finger and thumb of each hand.

A smile spread across her face. The calculating look returned. "Then allow me to lead."

Frowning slightly, he gave a broken nod and said breathlessly, "Oh-Ohkay. Yes. Please. Whatever you want. Just don't go. Please." His desperation was plain.

"You trust me, Don-ny," the way she said his nickname sounded weird to his ears. But instantly he chalked that up to being in a frenzied unsteady state of mind. "Don't you?"

He nodded obediently. "Yes. Yes I do. Absolutely. I trust you with everything, April. With my mind, my heart, my very –"

She pressed her finger against his lip, stopping him. He blinked up at her. She patted his cheek and then stepped around him.

"Then trust me. And don't move. You won't regret it." Her voice dropped into a seductive voice that he'd never heard from her before, the sound of it made him shiver involuntarily. A ripple of fear shot up his spine. But she went on, distracting him, "You've been such a good boy, haven't you? So patiently waiting for this."

He gave a soft nod of agreement. He heard the tape being pulled free from the roll and flinched as she took his arm and pulled it back. His sore shoulder stretched and he grimaced and hissed as he inhaled; unable to hide that the movement caused him pain. His eyes watered and he blinked and steadied himself.

_I trust you, April. I trust you,_ his mind repeated as he tried to quell his growing unease of the situation. He was in over his head and drowning before he even realized he was in too deep. He shifted in his seat fighting back the irrational urge to flee. It took all of his will power to ignore his instinct and not fight her as she taped his wrists securely to the back metal legs of the chair. As she wound the tape around and around, binding him firmly, his heart was hammering with desire; laced with a heavy dose of panic. Sweat dripped down the sides of his head, tickling his neck and pooling along his collar bone before trailing down to the edge of his plastron. She knelt in front of him and started to wind the tape around his shins and calves, taping them to the front legs of the chair. The panic was growing into a wild storm of fright within him.

"Ah, um . . . Do you really need to . . . do my legs too?" She ignored him. He licked his bottom lip with an equally dry tongue, and tried to question her again, "Wh-Why are y-you . . .?"

She lifted a finger and waved it back and forth, "Uh-uh! You said you trusted me," she said playfully and Don released a nervous laugh.

He licked his lips again and hoping to find a way out of this suddenly uncomfortable development said, "B-But I . . . I can't move. If-If Raph . . ."

She tilted her head. "I locked the door, remember? No one will bother us."

"R-Right," he said and swallowed, eyes flitting to the door.

He shifted and felt the ache in his shoulder shoot down his arm and across his chest. But his discomfort was instantly forgotten as April stood up and with a smooth movement, pulled her dress up and off, tossing it to the floor next to him. His round eyes roved up and down her body, rapidly, then slowly, memorizing every curve, every line with shining eyes. When they finally reached her eyes, his heartbeat was thundering in his ears.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered in a hoarse voice.

Her tongue poked out and she moistened her bottom lip. That motion alone sent a shiver through him. Then she dropped to her knees in front of him. This position, of her kneeling between his legs, sent a torrent of rushing need through him. His heated body was burning alive from the inside out. Earlier thoughts of needing to escape evaporated. He began to shake with anticipation. He couldn't help himself as he jumped at the contact of her soft hands as they slid to his inner thighs, moist with his perspiration. A small sound broke from his mouth as her fingers pressed against his flesh as they traveled down to the join of his body. She eyed his tail and smiled ruefully as she petted it. Don pressed his mouth into a tight line to keep quiet. He did not want to make any sounds that might alert his family's curiosity. He succeeded for a fraction of a second.

"Ah!" he cried as she wound his tail through her fingers and tugged. The movement brought a surge of pleasure laced with a small bolt of electric pain. The muscles in his thighs quivered. He felt the need to explain how sensitive their tails were before she accidentally hurt him when she did it again. The repeat motion was too much for the young mutant.

"Uh! Ohho Mmpf!" he strangled out. He dropped his reddened face as it crushed into a frown of concentration. His body trembled and then shuddered as his hips rolled up and his masculinity rose out from its concealment just at the inverted 'v' of the very bottom of his plastron. The thin sinewy skin concealing him and holding him restrained slid back as he emerged forwards and upwards. A loud rumbling noise rose out of him with the action and the chair scraped against the floor, leaving long white marks in the cement below.

Clenching his jaw, he blinked through the trails of sweat burning his eyes to gauge her reaction to him exposing his most private part of his body. The logical part of his mind was screeching at him that this was _wrong_. All wrong! That he should not be doing this. Not now. But that part of his mind was disconnected and floating above him far away somewhere and held no control over him. He'd waited so long for this. All the promises she made were coming true. Finally. He'd been patient. More than patient and now this was his reward. And it was well deserved. He only hoped he didn't disappoint her or frighten her. His shape was similar to humans but he knew that biologically, even with the mutated differences, he was still larger and the very end of him was not shaped the same way. He prayed that she didn't find him ugly or repulsive. His body quivered. He was at her mercy. Everything vulnerable about him was exposed now, and if she wanted she could crush him with a single look.

She was staring. He trembled under her scrutiny. Slowly she reached out with her right hand and with the back of one finger she trailed along his length. He panted through his gritted teeth and shook, pulling hard at the tape wrapped around his arms. He didn't want to be restrained any longer. He needed to hold her. He needed to wrap his arms around her. He had to get free. He yanked and pulled as his tingling fingers clawed at the metal legs. She trailed the tip of her finger down the length of him and he groaned desperately from between his tightly clenched teeth. His hips bucked and she pulled her hand away. He tugged at the tape, making the chair jump with his effort and she fell back onto her heels. Panting, dripping in sweat, lopsided on the chair; he blinked at her.

"April, let me go," he husked in a low voice full of emotion. His eyes were molten with passion. The muscles in his thighs bunched as he strained to get his legs loose. He wanted to get free. Right now. He didn't like this game anymore. It was frustrating and painful. Besides that, the yearning to take her in his arms was overwhelming him. "Cut me free. I-I want to hold you," he panted. "I-I need to-"

She shook her head and sat back on her heels. She enjoyed the show in silence as she watched him twist and writhe trying to escape; growing more frantic and frenzied by the second. He pulled and struggled until his wounded shoulder became a blazing agony finally making him cease his battle to get free; slumping where he sat, panting and drenched in sweat; staring desperately at her to do something. He whimpered and whined with each exhale like an injured animal, feeling ashamed even as the sound slipped out from him.

This wasn't going as he'd fantasized at all. No matter how badly he'd wanted to have sex with her, he wanted first and foremost to do it right. She was everything to him. He wanted to woo her and romance her. Sweep her off her feet. Make her swoon. Then when the moment was right, he was going to take her into her bedroom where he'd sprinkled rose petals all over her bed and make love to her gently, sweetly until morning came. He didn't want to be taped to a metal chair, under the harsh lights of his lab. Where was the romance in that? Where . . . his thoughts blanked as April reached over and picked her dress up off the floor. His mouth fell slowly open as he watched her slip it back on as she stood up.

"A-April?"

His mind raced. Had he done something wrong? Why was she getting dressed? Why was she looking at him like that? Eyes full of malice and pity. He clenched his jaw and tugged again at the restraints around his wrists and legs; panting.

"Wha . . . What are you . . . April, Wait. _April_ –"

She was in front of him again. Out of breath, he stared at her, a look of anxious confusion on his face. She leaned down and gripped him firmly, wrapping her fingers around his rigid flesh. His eyes turned to pools of frightful hope and tender confusion. They flitted between hers; silently searching for an explanation; while pleading for his freedom. "Don't worry, I'll take care of this. I'll never reject you again. I promise."

"Please let me go," he whispered.

In response, she smiled and slowly moved her hand. His rigid body constricted and he folded forward as far as the restraints allowed. His fingers clawed the air and his mouth gaped in a silent shout as she pulled on him, but rippling pleasure suddenly morphed into agony as she twisted his flesh cruelly while yanking hard and digging her nails in. Pain, intense and terrible, shot through him. He gasped and hissed between gritted teeth; thighs quivering, knees shaking.

"Hah, ah-ouch," he whimpered. "April! That _h-hurt me_," he said in an injured voice, making him sound small and frightened. Smiling wickedly, she wrapped her other hand around him; crushing him harder. Their eyes met and his were wide and full of betrayal, hurt and fright. She returned his gaze with one full of superiority and cold dominance.

"I thought you wanted this," she said innocently and gave him a little squeeze. "I'm just giving you what you wanted. What you've been waiting so patiently for."

He looked at her with bright eyes, face flushed and body shaking; feeling dumbfounded and frightened, ashamed, humiliated and mortified. She pumped her hands up and down gleefully, roughly, too roughly; pulling and thrusting down on his tender flesh, over and over, until he was raw and sore. All the while, Donatello pleaded with her between groans and gasps of pain; begging her to end the brutal treatment of his body.

He begged, "S-Stop! Ah! Mm! _Ow! Ow!_ P-Please! You're hur-urting me! April! I'm s-sorry for w-what I sa-aid! I didn't m-mean it! Please! Ow," his words dissolved into muffled, wordless moans.

But she ignored his pleading and cries of pain, ignored the stream of tears that began streaking down the sides of his crimson cheeks. She pulled and twisted and yanked, until his exhausted, abused body finally seemed to understand that there was only one way this would end. Sniffling, he clamped his eyes tightly closed; concentrating. His hips bucked powerfully once, then again, and he groaned as she felt him contract acutely beneath her grip, only once, as he came; shuddering and whimpering; folded forward, chin to his chest, eyes closed in misery and shame.

His head slowly moved from side to side in broken denial. His world was shattered. He was shattered. He shook and tears streamed down the sides of his face unabated. He felt sick to his stomach and retched as he fought the urge to vomit. Each shuddering breath he dragged in wheezed out from him with a high-pitched whining noise that he couldn't stop. But he was beyond caring at this point. He could not fall further into humiliation. Or so he thought. He jumped fearfully and quailed as he felt her wipe her wet fingers across the top of his head.

"There now. All better," she said sweetly and patted his now sticky head. "Just what you wanted. Any time you'd like more, just let me know."

Degraded, his dripping chest heaved and a sob broke from him. Then another. His body trembled as cramps speared his abdomen, starting from his abused flesh and radiating through his mid-section and down through his thighs. He gagged and swallowed back the burning bile. He dimly heard her footsteps lightly cross the room. The sound of the lock being undone reached him. He managed to raise his head by degrees. His mournful eyes rose up and found her, standing by the door.

"_April?"_ he croaked, voice full of anguish, catching in his throat. The question was barely a choked whisper.

"I hope it was good for you, too," she said with a light chuckle and quietly closed the door behind her.

Donatello dropped his head down; feeling a deep sinking humiliation. Icy horror flooded through him. His fractured mind scrambled to make sense of what had just happened to him. What his beloved had just done to him. The cruelty. The callous brutality of her actions. Was this what she thought he deserved? For his comment earlier? Another round of sobbing stole his thoughts away for a few moments. Slowly, he collected himself. Bottom lip trembling, he blearily looked around the room. His shoulder was sending waves of pain through him that was making his stomach twist and churn.

_Oh, April. What did I do that was so bad? Why do you hate me so much?_ He sniffled and tried to gently pull his arm free from the tape. It had loosened during his struggle, but the pain in his shoulder made him cringe and his arm went slack. As he worked at the bindings securing his other arm, his mind continued to try to reason out what had happened. But instead of logic and reason, his thoughts were filled with painfully mixed emotions full of hurt and self-pity.

_How could she do this to me? Why?_ _Why did she hurt me like this? She knows I love her. _

_"I love her,"_ he whispered aloud to himself_._ But how could he ever forgive this? He blinked blearily as he gazed out into the room. Could he? He wasn't sure. She knew she was hurting him. But still, even when he was crying . . . she didn't stop and then . . . then she wiped her hand off on him like he was garbage; like he was nothing to her. His sob caught in his tightening throat and he couldn't stop the torrent of fresh tears from spilling free.

A gentle, insistent tapping at the door had him straightening up in terror. His reddened eyes darted around the room in desperation.

"Donnie," came the muffled voice of Michelangelo. "I thought I heard some noises. You okay in there, bro?"

"_Y_-_Yeah_," he choked out thickly; trying to sound causal and busy and only sounding distressed to his own ears. He really hoped his brother couldn't tell that he'd been crying. He cleared his throat and coughed. He yanked more frantically at the tape; cringing from the pain, but desperate to get free. He glanced down at his dripping body, the blood pooled between his legs, trailing down his exposed, throbbing flesh. His cheeks burned.

_Oh god, please don't come in here. Please go away. I can't let him find me like this. How would I explain this? What would I tell him? _Unbidden,April's face popped into his mind and he bit his lip in an attempt to fight against the strengthening sob that made his chest heave.

"Can I come in?"

"_No_! N-No! Not right now! I-I need a-a few minutes, okay, bro? Ya hear me? Don't c-come in. Okay? I'll be out in a m-minute. Just. Please. Okay? Mikey?"

There was a silent pause and in that moment Donatello was sure Mikey was going to come in despite his commands for him to go away. His bottom lip trembled as he panted and stared at the door.

"Okay." Another pause. "I think Raph's home. But he went straight to his room. I think he went to bed. So, I didn't tell him what happened."

He sat frozen for another minute, holding his breath, afraid to answer lest he inadvertently give his brother the wrong idea that he wanted company. He didn't want to treat him coldly, but he was terrified of being discovered like this. Another minute passed before he released his breath and went back to pulling himself free. Cursing and whimpering as the chair bumped and scraped against the floor. Finally, he dragged his arm loose from the binds with a muffled cry of anguished triumph. He wiped the tears from his cheek with the back of his hand and immediately went to setting his aching left arm free.

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**A/N:** Runs screaming from the room - I'm so mean. Keep those reviews comin' people! It really keeps me motivated!

P.S. Zarius - you're comment about me being a 'dangerous writer' has really touched me. I had your words in mind as I wrote this chapter. Thank you for keeping me razor sharp - your comment kept me from backpedaling or pulling my punches. I hope it paid off! xo


	11. Ch 11 - White Clouds, Empty Sky

**A/N:** Please don't kill me, Donatello fans. Sometimes there's gonna be broken hearts...

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"I hope you never do, because there is nothing

any sadder than losing yourself in love.

Somebody said they saw me, swinging the world by the tail

bouncing over a white cloud,

killing the blues" – Killing the Blues, Robert Plant and Alison Krauss

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**Chapter 11 – White Clouds, Empty Sky**

* * *

April sat with her legs folded on a couch in her living room. The lights were off. Twilight had come and gone and the light of the day had streaked across her apartment through the kitchen windows; golden and promising, the air's humidity eased as the day faded. Cooling ramen noodles sat in a bowl on her coffee table; untouched. The shell cell lay on her lap. Donatello had called but when she finally decided to speak to him, it was too late. He'd hung up. She crossed her arms and stared at the phone. She debated calling him back. Several minutes passed as her anger at his snippy comment warred with her sympathy for his situation.

He was out of line, saying what he did. Though she knew he wasn't lying or even exaggerating for that matter. He spoke the truth. She was staying in her comfort zone. Taking things slow. She had her reasons. Reasons that she couldn't explain to him without hurting him. He had to deal with it. She wasn't trying to lead him on, wasn't trying to give him the wrong message, and yet . . . that was exactly what had been happening. April hugged herself tightly and sighed. _What am I doing with him?_ she asked herself.

When it came right down to it, she had mixed feelings. When the golden woman had assaulted her mind with Donatello's vivid imagery from his secret fantasies of her, she had been shocked, but also intrigued, frightened and excited. That he had feelings for her came as no surprise. That he harbored such passionate fantasies involving her was a little overwhelming. She'd had her share of thoughts revolving around him, but none quite so graphic or detailed. After experiencing that, after seeing those impassioned visions played out in her mind like a romance novel come to life, she'd decided to try. Attempting to open herself up to the possibility of being with him as a girlfriend, as a lover. Recklessly and without considering the full implications of what this dramatic step in their relationship may mean to him, she went for it. And she had tried. Really she had. Tried to get past the mental obstacles that cropped up in her mind and heart.

He was good to her. Donatello was sweet and funny and interesting . . . but there were some hurdles that she was having trouble dealing with. For one thing there was the age difference. She was twenty and he was only seventeen. Just a kid, really. She picked at the edge of the shell-shaped cell phone on her lap that he'd created and built. A small reminder of the genius and creativity behind those deep brown eyes. April smiled to herself, but it held a sadness as her mind moved on to the next point.

The biggest challenge; the one she thought she could overcome, the one she'd never thought would actually be a problem because she was so completely open-minded: the fact that he was a humanoid turtle. Plain and simple, a mutant. It shouldn't have mattered, his outward appearance, but it _was_ a problem in spite of her ability to be empathetic and open. A problem that had her stuck in place for over a year. It bothered her that she couldn't get past it. It infuriated her. Mostly, it shamed her. She had never dated much in high school and her experience with boys was extremely limited. She had never been with anyone and the thought of giving her virginity to a mutant . . . well, if she were to be completely honest with herself, it was more than a little strange and frightening. It terrified her. If only she'd had more experience, then maybe she wouldn't feel this way.

April ran both hands through her hair. What was she thinking? This was Donatello. He wasn't just a mutant. He wasn't just a boy. He was brilliant and kind, protective and caring, supportive and attentive. He was gentle and willing to do whatever she wanted. Willing to take things as slowly as she needed. And up to just this morning, had never once complained to her or pressured her about the situation. What more could she want in a boyfriend? And yet. The fact remained.

When they kissed something was off. She'd tried to push past it. But the feeling never went away. And while she had her share of fantasies about what being with him physically might be like; his body was incredibly toned and lovely to look at, differences aside, when they were actually together, kissing, something was missing. Kissing him was strange and slightly uncomfortable; like experimenting with something you're not sure you're really into. It was like doing something taboo and thrilling and yet, it also made her feel uneasy and weird. Almost like . . . like kissing a cousin. A hot cousin, but still, a cousin nonetheless. It felt wrong. And she couldn't get past it. Whatever that made her, despite her open-mindedness, the truth stood firmly and coldly before her.

She sighed and tears burned the corners of her eyes. She had to admit to the reality of the situation. She'd tried. She really did. Had considered just going for it and let the pieces fall where they may afterwards. But she knew that wasn't going to fix anything. Pushing their relationship to go deeper wasn't a good idea when she was struggling to get past just kissing him and making out. She'd only hurt him more. Besides, she was too old to play pretend or ignore the problem and just wish it would resolve itself.

She had to face it. It simply wasn't working between them. She wiped at the moisture at the outer corner of her eye. Another time, maybe it would have worked. If she was more comfortable with herself and with men in general, maybe. But with a sinking certainty and an honest clarity in that moment, she knew it was over. That it had never really started at all.

She would have to tell him. Guilt stabbed her. He was going to be crushed. She knew. God, she never meant to hurt him. She thought she was doing her best to make it work, to make it through any awkwardness that was shallow and stupid, but it had been a year. And nothing had changed for her. He was amazing and wonderful, but she didn't think he was what she wanted. No, more than that. She knew he was not the one for her. There was no deeper spark, no attraction besides the very shallowest one that drove only the most fleeting of feelings and her love for him remained at the level of dearest friend, but nothing more than that.

"Oh god," April moaned into her palms as she dropped her face into her hands.

She'd have to let him know and soon. But how? When? Things were in chaos in the lair. Their family was going through a crisis. Did she really have to drop this bomb on him now? April picked up the phone and stared at it. Finally, she set the phone to one side. It could wait.

She'd visit him in the morning when she went down to see Leonardo. Apologize to him for her rash behavior. She would keep her promise and talk to Leo about confiding in his brothers about what had happened to him. If there was a way to inform them and help Donatello figure out if there was a link between that and what they were dealing with as far as Master Splinter's episodes, they had to figure it out. Besides, she also wanted to make sure Donnie hadn't hurt himself too badly from his fall. She'd watched as he left the alley and he seemed okay, but she wanted to make sure. She sniffled and wiped her nose. It was the least she could do before breaking his heart.

She stood up and stretched; heading for her bed; feeling wretched and sick. Full of remorse and guilt, she doubted she'd sleep at all tonight.

* * *

LaKeesha climbed to her feet as she pulled her blouse over her head. She straightened her top and hiked up her pants up over her ample hips then buttoned them closed. She twisted and pointed a well-manicured nail in Casey's direction where he lay on the floor, panting and sprawled across the blankets and stuffing that once made up the chair. Scratches, pink and shallow ran across the outside of his thighs and upper arms where there were no bandages.

"And don't think you don't owe me for the damage, sugar."

Casey rolled to the side and propped himself up on one elbow. He'd hoped they could've avoided this conversation. Especially after just having to give his body to this woman to placate her for the mess Raphael left. He pushed aside the slightly sick feeling that swirled in the pit of his stomach. Feeling like dirt was something Casey had long ago come to be familiar with. Between being beaten by his drunken father on a regular basis and fighting with teachers and counselors at school who told him in no uncertain terms that he was nothing more than trash, he was more or less immune to the pain at this point. More or less. It helped to block it out with alcohol. Or busting heads. Either would do to numb that nagging ache inside of him and make it fade a bit. It was never completely gone, though.

Catching his breath, he panted, "Aw, but, Keesha, I . . . I told you. I-I'm sort of short on cash. Can't we work something out?"

She eyed him critically, slowly up and down his naked body and he swallowed, feeling like he was a cut of meat being inspected. The dirty feeling made a strong return and he dropped his eyes so he didn't have to watch her size him up. She huffed and shook her head, apparently, not impressed with what she saw now.

"Sorry, sugar." She flicked her finger at him in a general way. "I can let you stay for your, uh, unique services, but Uncle Troy will want to replace that t.v. and the mirror in the bathroom."

"C'mon, Keesha," he whined as he sat up onto his heels. "You gotta give me a break here, this wasn't even my –" he cut his words off before he accidentally ratted out Raphael. Snapping his mouth shut, he gazed up at her from behind a thick fringe of dark bangs; blue eyes pleading. His blackened, swollen eye along with the bruising on his body and the scratch marks she had given him only made him look like a boxer that had gone one too many rounds. Pathetic. LaKeesha pressed her lips together in distaste.

"M-m, don't even give me that look. It ain't gonna work on me this time. What you thinking, anyway? We ain't running no shit hole."

"Coulda fooled me," Casey mumbled under his breath as he threw part of the blanket across his hips, covering himself. Feeling trapped, feeling embarrassed and angry. How'd he ever get in this mess?

"Watch it, boy. You're lucky we got ourselves this little arrangement. Otherwise you'd be in big trouble. Uncle Troy would take the rent out on your knees with one of those baseball bats you like to collect. Then you'd be on the street," she snapped her fingers, "like that. Three hundred. For the t.v. and the mirror. I'll pay for a new chair and we got a spare bed to move in here. So you can't say I'm a total bitch." She punctuated the last sentence with a jerk of her head.

Casey's mouth hung open, at a loss for words. Three_ hundred?_ Where the hell was he going to get that much? He ran a hand through his hair as panic raced through him. This was Raphael's mess, he thought desperately, why should he have to cough up the money? Raph should pay for this. Raph . . . But his shoulders slumped. There was no way Raph had that kind of money, either. The guy lived in a sewer for Christ's sake. No. He was screwed. _Dammit_.

"You got a week." She turned on her heel and scooped up the flowers he'd given her, then slammed the door shut.

"Wha . . . a _week!_? Aw, c'mon, Keesha! _Keesha?!_ _Dammit_!" he punched the floor twice rapidly and watched as three cockroaches skittered in panic from beneath the blanket he was just laying on. He jumped and scooted backwards with a revolted expression and huff of breath and then leaped to his feet with a shudder. He and Raph shared a common hatred for bugs of all kinds. They made his skin crawl. Cursing, he looked around and grabbed his clothes where LaKeesha had thrown them about the wreckage. He cast about and could not find his boxers. He stooped and grabbed his jeans, giving up on undergarments. He shook out his jeans and hopping on one foot, he pulled them on.

The bandages going around his bruised ribs were falling off from the woman's rough groping. He tried to tuck them back only for them to fall off more. With each breath he took, he felt the strained muscles tighten with pain. The encounter with LaKeesha on the floor moments ago didn't help. With fingers that shook slightly, he tried again. His mind continued to race to figure out where he could earn three hundred dollars in a week. The bandages only became looser. The pain tighter. Frustrated he slapped his thighs. That was it. He was done.

With a shake of his head he said, "Forget this, shit."

He was starting to feel like he was getting the short end of the deal here, anyway. Raph hadn't paid his portion of the rent for weeks now. He ran a clammy hand through his hair and rubbed his neck as he stooped and gathered some of his belongings into a plastic bag. And he couldn't do this with Keesha anymore. His body ached all over and her being rough was getting real old. She wasn't blind, he was sure she noticed the bandages wrapped around his ribs.

"Rotten bitch," he mumbled.

The woman was sweet in the beginning but she was starting to be a little more than he could handle. At this point, he felt he'd rather go up against some Purple Dragons in an alley than slink back here to be batted around like a mouse in the grip of a manic feline. And now that he had to choke up three hundred dollars or she'd kick him out or have her uncle beat the money out of him, things were getting a tad too complicated for him. He had no choice now. He had to man up and just go home.

As he left the motel, he glanced around for any sign of LaKeesha or her uncle. Hoisting his golf bag higher up on his aching shoulder, a black garbage bag filled with his spare clothes, videos and first aid materials clutched in his other hand, he stole down the cement walkway, down the metal stairs and crept back around the building. His hockey mask was propped on the top of his head. Jogging, he headed off along the side of the freeway, all the while praying that his dad would be out for the night, physically or just passed out.

His mind drifted to his friend and the mess he left the motel room in. He needed some answers. He'd go see Raph in the morning. Talk to him about what happened and see if he wanted to open up about that hot babe, Deborah. Hopefully, she was still alive. He gulped.

Casey shook his head; tapped out a cigarette from his crumpled pack, took it and held it loosely between his lips. Nah, he was sure she was fine. Raphael was a good guy. Just a little hot-headed, moody and sensitive as hell. She probably cracked a joke at his expense and then booked before anything happened. That is, he hoped that's all that went down. The guy was strong as a freaking bull. What if he didn't know his own strength? Casey shook his head again, banishing the thought. There would've been some sign. Like blood or something. Suppressing a shudder, he vaulted over the guard rail and started along the side of the freeway.

A pair of headlights fell on him, casting his shadow into a long line ahead of him. He spun around, walking backwards. He squinted and put out his thumb as a pick-up barreled past him, nearly hitting him. His hand twisted around and he gave the driver the finger.

"Yeah, real nice, pal. Tryin' ta kill a guy for askin' for a ride," Casey grumbled.

Giving up on hitch-hiking, he resigned himself to walking; sore ribs be damned. Maybe he could even convince Raph to let him hang out at his family's place for a change. He owed him big time for the past few months with LaKeesha. Not to mention the damage and what he had to endure this evening with her. That's it. He'd hit his house, check on his dad (who would hopefully _not_ be home or at least, passed out), have a shower and then first light, he'd head over to Raphael's sewer home. He remembered helping Raph down to one of the entrances when he'd hurt his leg during a scuffle with a gang.

Casey patted his pockets for a lighter as the cars passed by him, casting him in a red glow from the tail lights as he hoofed it down the road. His nerves were shot, he really needed a smoke. He patted and checked every pocket. He swore as his search came up empty. When would his luck ever change for the better?

* * *

Raphael lay in his hammock, one leg hung limply over the side, one arm bent and acting as a pillow to cradle his head. His face was turned to the wall. Eyes tired and red from all the tears he'd spilled, he stared blankly at the cracked surface of the bricks. His breathing was slow and ragged. He felt emptied out and hollow. His chest still squeezed painfully and would not let up. It had started just as she crawled away from him on that bed. Just the memory of that moment sent a wave of debilitating pain through him. His body tensed as if preparing for a blow and his breathing sped up. He panted through gritted teeth. He didn't want to relive that humiliating moment. The most humiliating thing he'd ever been put through. But the thoughts rushed forward.

He was so stupid. So fuckin' stupid. True to form, he'd put it all on the table. Like a damn _fool_. He offered his body, his love, everything . . . just - all he had to her. He _begged_ her, actually, to give him a chance. That's all he wanted. Just a chance to prove to her that he was . . . _good_. That his love was worth something. That _he_ was worth giving a shot. He would treat her right, take care of her, protect her . . . he'd give her anything she wanted. Anything. He would find a way. No matter what it took.

But just like a freakin' animal he jumped her. With a shaking hand, he pressed a fist against his forehead. He swore under his breath as he fought the lump in his throat to no avail. What the hell was he thinking? God, he was disgusting. She was right, he was an animal. His breath hitched as his bottom lip trembled.

And her reaction? Using the heel of his hand, he roughly wiped at one burning cheek. She was repulsed. Disgusted and horrified. She had nearly said it to his face. He was a freak to her. A freak. A fuckin' freak. That's all he was. It was all he'd ever be to anyone on the outside.

Raphael rubbed his thumb hard into his watering eye. They hurt from all the crying he'd done. Cryin' like a baby. It was pathetic. He was pathetic. Cryin' over some chick that wanted nothing to do with him. She called him an animal. She was right. She would never want anything to do with a freak like him.

"C-Can I blame her?" he asked himself hoarsely. He huffed out a bitter chuckle, but the effort was weak and it came out more of a broken sigh.

Deborah's firm rejection had obliterated him. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her, laid out before him, her beautiful body in all its luscious glory, the need was a painful bolt that only served to torment him further. He wished he never had left that morning. Wished that he dropped her at a hospital or just left her in that alley. He blinked sadly, knowing there was no way in hell he would've done that. He hiccupped.

If he were stronger, he wouldn't have looked at her on that bed; when she fell back; when the towel came undone . . . His face burned with the vivid memory. She smelled so good. She smelled like everything good in the world. Like rain and roses and whiskey and soap. And she was so soft when he was on top of her. Impossibly soft. Softer than . . . than _feathers_ or . . . he didn't even know what to compare it to. So soft that he just wanted to smash her against his body, just squeeze her and crush her to him.

He sniffled and the sound of it brought him back to reality. He didn't realize that his hands were pressing together, crossed over his heart as he imagined her body beneath him. With a frustrated growl, he jerked his hands back to his sides. The hammock swung back and forth from the motion. He gnashed his teeth. _ Pathetic!_ He clenched his eyes and pressed on them with his finger and thumb until the sight behind his eyelids was nothing but red and pain lanced through his head. That was better.

He took in a deep unsteady breath and then another. He ground his teeth together. If he ever laid eyes on her again, he would be stronger. He would not say a word to her. He would not even look at her. He was nothing to her. He had to make himself believe that she meant nothing to him. He vowed to never again make such a fool of himself. Not _ever_ again.

* * *

Leonardo shuddered in his sleep. Sweat beaded and ran down his head. A narrow stream of tears traced down and back to his temples. His bruised and aching body trembled beneath the blanket that Michelangelo had pulled up and tucked around him where he slept. From the pores along the scarring of his wrists and ankles, the blood rose up and trickled. Tiny droplets, they pearled and swelled before trailing thin lines down the miniscule creases and fragile wrinkles of his wrists and ankles to pool onto the sheet beneath him and soak into the mattress he lay upon. From each drip, the Mistress kept her connection to this world secure and strong. The enchantment she'd placed on his life source, his blood, in that room where he'd been shackled just before opening her portal to her home held fast.

She flickered as she approached an unconscious Splinter. She bore the likeness of Tang Shen. If he awoke, she wanted him to see this woman. The woman that his heart still clung to. The same woman that Oroku Saki pined for like a fool. She was tempted to seek him out while she visited this world. He was one of her finest lovers that she'd had while exiled here. But no, there was really no time. Like all magic, the spell on Leonardo's blood would run its course, the more she used it, the more it dwindled. She needed to claim what she came here for. Her revenge on Leonardo.

She hummed as she took in the rat's condition. He had sustained an injury to his skull. Leonardo had finally attacked him and defended himself. As she knew he would. No doubt, at great cost to his heart, she thought and smiled wickedly as she imagined the look on the turtle's face as he swung the weapon in a desperate attempt to save his own life. She was sure it would have been perfection. If only she could've seen it. But she had been elsewhere with the youngest and most vulnerable of the family. She watched the rat sleep and fitfully twist as she placed a hand along his forehead. He'd been useful but his strength was weakening. More importantly, her interest in him was waning. He had been a useful pawn in crushing Leonardo's spirit. He'd served his purpose well. But now she had her sights set on his brothers.

She stroked the side of his face and he moaned quietly. She thought she heard him murmur Tang Shen's name. Poor, pathetic creature. She considered putting it out of its misery, but decided to pool her strength and save it for what was to come. In infinite mercy, she decided to set him free from her influence. Goddesses could be kind. When they wanted to be.

She leaned down and whispered, "I release you." Satisfied by her act of tenderness, she stood back. Let fate have his fickle way with the old rat now. Her eyes gleamed a bright gold. She was after fresher meat.

She brought her hands up in front of her face and her form glowed a soft golden light as she shifted yet again; growing smaller in stature and frame. Orange eyes framed with thick black lashes blinked. She gazed down at her reptilian form; the three-fingered hands, the smooth plastron covering the front of her body, malleable but thick. So strange, these creatures. They were unique in this plane of existence. She would have guessed them to be a product of magic with certainty if there was any in this realm to speak of. But there was none. Or to be precise, very sparse amounts. So, a chance miracle of rare magic and scientific alchemy that could not be replicated in any exact way again created them.

It was a shame that there were only four. And of those, all were male. No females of their kind meant no future. They were exotic, even to her. A thought occurred to her then. Perhaps the dilemma of their rarity was something she could rectify.

Instead of feeding on the one and keeping him until he exhausted his use, out of revenge against Leonardo; perhaps she could use him to a more profitable advantage. To create more of their kind. If he spawned a female or two to breed with his brothers, it would be perfect. Then their offspring she would gather as one gathers fruit ripened on the vine. Those would serve as her harem and she would continue to breed them and improve the stock of her exotic and unique lovers. No queen ever had such prizes to call their own.

She smiled with bittersweet reminiscence and lifted a hand to her face. It ignited into a golden flame that did not consume, but rather flickered and caressed her skin with a tingling sensation. She had created a life before. She had been a mother. Once. She could be that again. She could be mother, lover, goddess to them all.

She had to bring the one back to her realm and see if his body could withstand the burden, first. It was no simple undertaking. It had been centuries since she last found a male not only worthy but strong enough to bear her offspring. The process had its potentially life-threatening aspects, but she was certain it would be no problem. She knew exactly the male she would take as her breeding stud and vessel. The boy was ripe for the picking; fresh and strong. And his innocence bleated to her like a lost lamb that was too delicious to ignore.

And if he couldn't endure the process and perished, well, then she would have to come back and fetch Leonardo once and for all.

She stepped out into the living room and padded across it on the balls of her bare feet. She crossed the expanse without a sound, pausing just outside the lab. From within she could make out the soft sniffling sounds of a broken heart, belonging to the one named Donatello. He was fun and fed her well. She had half a notion to go back inside and toy with him more. She could sense in him the confused emotions racing through his mind and heart. He yearned to understand why his love had hurt him in such a way. That need to understand could lend itself to some interesting games.

She shook her head. No. She had to stay focused. Looking to the side, she sensed the other's presence. The one that thought he was tough. But not so tough now, it seemed. She took a step forward. Perhaps she had time for one more game. A darkness was writhing along the crevice of his doorway and the hall. Her eyes fell on it and she gasped; recoiling. Despair. It was strong inside that room. Too strong for her tastes. She had to stay away from that. She stepped backwards, then again. If needed, she knew his weakness and would use it to break him. It would be so easy. But she didn't truly believe the broken soul inside that room posed any kind of a threat to her at the moment.

Besides, feeding on and toying with these males was not why she was here. She was here for one purpose. To gain revenge upon Leonardo for daring to reject her when she had come to claim him. It had taken a year to heal after his brutal attack had sent her reeling back to her dimension. A year of painfully sucking at the pitiful creatures that inhabited her realm. A realm where magic blossomed like desert flowers in the rain, but desire was a hidden thing, a feared thing and Despair ever lurked in the shadows, ever hungry for the light of passion to devour and make void. She would take Leonardo's family apart and leave him with despair as his only comfort.

With stealthy feline grace, the Mistress crept to Michelangelo's door. Slowly she turned the knob and eased it open. Without a backwards glance, she slid inside.

Mikey's face was buried in his pillow, arms wrapped securelly beneath it. "I'm tired. Go away," he mumbled into the pillow.

"I'm sorry. I'll go," came the sweet voice in response.

Mikey's head jerked up. Bright eyes, glassy with tears, grew into round circles as he spotted her. The little female mutant turtle! The memory of the afternoon in the cavern of candy flooded back in a rush of his suddenly hammering heart. He could taste the sugar coating his tongue as if he were still inside the room, as though it was never gone.

He rolled to his side and made to get up but she was there, in his way, one knee propped up on the mattress; her hand pressing his side back and down until he was rolled onto his shell. With a smooth movement, she straddled him and leaned down slowly to kiss at his gaping, gasping mouth. Her lips pressed into his, gently but insistently and he closed his eyes. A soft purr vibrated from her throat. He matched it, only his was deeper, rumbling down through her body. She pulled away slightly; resting her chin on her folded hands propped on his chest. She gazed into his wide, blinking eyes. His face was flushed and tinged pink at his cheeks.

"Still want me to leave?"

"No," came his whispered reply. "I m-mean, if you want to. But, um, er, staying is good. With me. I would like that. You s-staying with me, I mean. In h-here. In my room. With m-me." He paused to swallow nervously and she placed a finger onto his mouth to shush him.

"You really are perfect."

* * *

**A/N:** A clearer glimpse into the Mistress' motivations and plans for the boys. Please review! I love hearing from you guys!


	12. Ch 12 - Moment of Distraction

**CHAPTER 12 – Moment of Distraction**

* * *

The Mistress rose up, legs straddling Michelangelo. Her dress bunched at her hips. She dragged herself against him and Mikey groaned softly; blinking in embarrassment from the involuntary sound. He never told his brothers about meeting her in the candy cavern down the creepy tunnel. Not that he really would have had a chance with coming home to find Leonardo and Master Splinter beaten up so badly. But what was strange was that he'd completely forgotten meeting her. He couldn't understand how it was possible that he'd forget someone as amazing and incredible as her. He lifted his hands and cupped the sides of her face as she leaned down towards his mouth for another kiss. He stiffened and she stopped.

"Wait, uh, I never got a chance to ask before. What's your name?" he asked.

Her eyes gleamed bright orange, flecked with sharp shards of gold. She considered him with a smirk on her face. "I've had more names than I can even recall."

Mikey frowned slightly, his thumbs gently stroked the sides of her cheeks. Her skin was softer than his, silky. He liked the way it felt. He like the swirls and star-like patterned on the right side of her body. His eyes strayed along one particular curl in the golden pattern on her cheek, he said in a distracted voice, "Oh. Um, do you have a favorite?"

"A . . . favorite?"

He nodded then looked her in the eye. She saw the genuine curiosity there. She decided to speak honestly to him. Her eyes grew distant, as memories from a lost past surfaced, "There was a name I enjoyed. I supposed you could say it was a favorite of mine." She paused, "I was once called Inanna. Men and women of this world would offer their bodies to me in worship in golden temples with spiraling towers," she poked him at the tip of his nose and dragged her finger down to his mouth. He smiled shyly at her. "But that was long ago." She finished with a heavy sigh.

"Whoa," he said, his mind racing to make sense of what the heck she was talking about. He didn't know what to make of what she'd just said. She shifted and looked away, across the room, as he slid his hands to rest at her shoulders, watching her. He did know one thing: he didn't like the sad look on her face. She was too pretty to look so down. He wanted to make her feel better. "I think that's a really nice name. I like it. En . . . Inna na nana . . ." he fumbled and chuckled in spite of himself.

She smiled down at him and pronounced the ancient moniker slowly, over and over as she brought her lips closer. Mikey softly repeated until he got it right and she pressed her mouth to his just as he said it correctly. She smelled like honey and peaches and Michelangelo breathed her in deeply. His heart was pounding like he'd just been running and he felt light-headed and heavy all at once. He wondered vaguely as she kissed him if this was what falling in love felt like. She slid her right hand down between them until she met the curve of his body. He tensed and his eyes popped open. She pressed and slipped her fingers into the pocket that kept his masculinity tucked away and hidden from view. He jumped and his breath hitched in his throat when he felt her fingers grasp him and start to slid him free. His body tightened and he tried to pull away from her. He really liked her, but this was going too fast! His mouth dropped open and he gave a little gasp of pain as she tugged against his reluctance. A slight tremor swept through his body beneath her.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked innocently.

With watering eyes, he blinked at her. Breathless, he responded, "Uhhm, th-that's just a, sort of . . . is sensitive."

"Let me make it better," she murmured and began to stroke him.

Heart pounding, his body trembled. He reached down and grabbed her wrist, stopping her. What she was doing to him felt so right. So good. _Really_ good. As if his body had been just waiting to be touched like this . . . by her. But his mind was a jumbled mess and he felt like she was racing ahead, pulling him along and he couldn't keep up. Besides that, coming home to find Leo beaten and bloody and his father on the ground . . . and all the blood. No matter what Donnie said about them being fine . . . there was so much blood. Mikey swallowed dryly. He couldn't do this. It was wrong. He liked her a lot, which made it seem even more wrong, because he didn't want things to go so fast, to get so intense so soon between them.

_"Wait!" _he whispered hoarsely. He cleared his throat,_ "_Shouldn't we . . ." his blue eyes were shining in the darkness. "Shouldn't we get to know each other a little better?"

He shrugged feeling scared and unsure. The last thing he wanted to do was give her the wrong impression. She was the only girl mutant turtle he'd ever met. Probably the only one in the whole world and she wanted him. This fact was not lost on Michelangelo and while he was terrified to hurt her feelings in any way, he had to make her understand. It wasn't that he didn't like her. But something in the pit of his stomach told him what they were doing was wrong.

He licked his bottom lip and took in an unsteady breath as he went on, "I-I think you're really special, Inanna. R-Really pretty, too."

The Mistress levelled a look at him. She opened her mouth and he rambled on, catching her off guard with his beautiful innocence; his pure heart. She thought Leonardo's heart was one of the purest she'd encountered in a millennia, but here was one better. For he craved no power, no secret desire to be something more, to be great. No hidden wish for a new identity, only acceptance of what he was and within that was a simple contentment that was at the heart of his innocence. In him was only that shining beacon of what was at the heart of all true passion, the blinding thrill of life as it is at its fullest; the rush of experience; the sheer joy of the moment. Every beat of his heart was like a ringing bell to her ears calling out to her; welcoming her in its warmth and filling her with that same joy and desire while at the same time, bringing her to her knees with its intensity.

"I k-know what it's like," he said in an earnest whisper, locking his searching eyes on hers. She couldn't help but be drawn in; finding herself more and more fascinated by the young mutant. His next statement was more accurate than he could have ever known. "To feel like that. T-To be lonely. And I know you're probably really lonely after being down here so long . . . all by yourself."

The Mistress blinked, taken aback. Not so much for what he'd said but rather, the fact that it did apply. It applied too well. She knew loneliness. It was a constant companion. Even to one who fed on lust in all its forms, there was an emptiness that remained unfilled no matter how much she devoured. The truth was, despite all her power, all her manipulations and abilities, all her multitude of long years of never-ending existence, she was incomplete.

Fury flashed through her. Her orange eyes gleamed bright gold for a second as she clenched her jaw. How dare he say such a thing to her? Lay bare the pain that she endured and hid from so . . . so simply? Who did he think he was to reach inside of her so easily and extract something she'd hidden away? More disturbingly, how did he _know_? A small piece of her heart bruised with the tender thought and fright speared her. No! She was a goddess. She would not be undone by a mortal male. Certainly not by one as meek and innocuous as this one. He was playing a very dangerous game and had no idea what he was up against. She sat up and pulled her petite hands into trembling fists. She shook her head sharply. A sneer curled her upper lip exposing one small fang.

"How _dare_ you –"

Mikey's eyes widened. "I-I'm sorry. I just wanted you to know that I-I don't judge you. That I understand why." He propped himself up on his elbows. His face a mask of worry.

Her brows dropped into a frown. "Why _what_?" she snapped; eyes narrowed, unable to quell her curiosity despite her anger at his boldness. A part of her was fascinated by him. She assumed his innocence had drawn her, but perhaps . . . there was something more.

"Why you want t-to, uhm, be close to me," he finished softly, shyly. He went on quickly, "But there's no rush. I'd like to get to know you a little better, I mean. 'Cuz I like you. That's all."

She'd been exiled here for so long; separated from her subjects by her own wicked offspring overthrowing her rule; hiding and searching all the time for a way home; for a way to regain what she had lost. She'd nearly given up and accepted her fate; weary of this world and its inhabitants with their lack of magical ability or even the belief in the mystical. She'd toyed with them. Fed off of the powerful men, both wicked and warm-hearted. But eventually, she'd become a living artifact. A relic of antiquity that no one here could even understand. She could not reveal herself. Not without the possibility of death. For though she was everlasting, she could be killed. So she was careful.

Then she had stumbled upon Oroku Saki and his manic obsession with a dead woman and his ravings about mutants, whatever those were. He enchanted her with his stories and she had finally found someone that she could build up to a station of power that had some taste for the mystical, for the supernatural and unexplained. Carefully, she began to weave tales of her past and showed him how she could be to him whatever he'd wanted. To her delight and surprise he believed her, so she stayed with him, despite the fact that his obsession with the past and with revenge would never allow him to reach the greatness that he could've had he only gone beyond that shortsightedness. He was the only human that she had ever confided in. And being with him led her to Leonardo and finally to her way home.

She gazed at Michelangelo staring so intently at her, waiting for her response with fearful, yet strangely understanding eyes. These turtles. These mutants. So out of sync here. So out of place as she was. For the only the second time in centuries found herself once again charmed by a mortal male. She had indeed chosen wisely to spawn with this one. He was more than he seemed.

A sly smile spread across her features. Charmed or not, she could not get distracted. She would not allow it. She had to stay focused. Leonardo had dishonored her and hurt her when after all she had only come to bring him with her to her realm. She would have given him everything. For his attention and devotion, she would have ruled him and at once been his slave. He would have been her consort for as long as he endured. But in response, his family attacked her, the wretched rat and that little human girl. Then Leonardo nearly killed her. Had it not been for the portal opening, she would have been trapped here and would have died from the sword wound he'd given her. She had barely managed to survive using all of the surrounding magic she could gather in her realm and even that had barely kept her clinging to life. She had come for revenge. Revenge against Leonardo's cruel disrespect and betrayal. She would not be distracted by this one's sweet empathy. Revenge was what she was after. She would have it.

"No more talk." Her hand shot out and gripped Michelangelo by the throat, the flesh was suddenly aflame with golden fire that did not burn but snapped and tingled against his skin. Mikey yelped in surprise and fear.

"Wha-What?"

The Mistress bared her fangs and spoke through gritted teeth, "You're coming home with me, little boy."

* * *

Leonardo's eyes snapped open. He stared at the ceiling, wondering where he was before he realized he was in his bed, in his room. What was he just dreaming? Something about his brothers. They were cracking up about something. A fleeting feeling of discomfort fluttered through his stomach as his heart tripped. Even as his mind grasped at the remnants of the vision, he couldn't get a firm hold and the dream was lost to him; leaving him with a ghost of unease, a sensation of dread that confused him.

He blinked and rubbed his dry eyes. His body hurt. Whenever he took a breath, it felt as if his right side was being jabbed with shards of glass. He had a pounding migraine that added to his waking misery. He turned his head and saw that it was eight in the morning. But the lair was quiet. Besides the unease of the dream he'd had, he felt as though he were forgetting something. Something that was upsetting. Carefully, he sat up, wincing with the motion. He brought his legs around to the edge of the bed. He felt like a truck had hit him. His brow dropped into a frown and he rested his aching head against the heel of his hand.

"My son," a voice spoke from the meditation mat on the floor.

Leonardo's head snapped up. The terrifying memories of his battle against his father rushed back. His eyes widened, mouth gaped. He started to shake as he slid off the side of the mattress onto his knees onto the floor. The cruel words echoed in his panicked mind.

_"You? My son? No." He laughed and it was hollow and bitter and cold. "You are no son of mine, __**freak**__."_

_"You sicken me."_

Master Splinter, head wrapped in bandages, lurched forward and caught his upper body in his arms as Leo pitched forward.

"Leonardo!"

He was coughing and trying to catch his breath with lungs that squeezed and would not allow any oxygen to enter. The vision of his father strangling him – a look of pure disgust mixed with glee on his features – rose into his mind. Then the nun-chuck in his grip as he swung it once, then again to make his father stop hurting him. To subdue him before he passed out and was beaten to death. His body shook violently and despite Master Splinter trying to hold him upright, he continued to fall until he was on his elbows and knees, face to the cool floor.

_"Haah . . . haah," _he wheezed as the panic attack tensed his aching body into bunched knots. His fingers dug at the ground.

"My son! Be _calm_! Please!"

Distantly he felt Splinter's hands, one on the back of his pounding head, the other against his carapace, stroking him gently with reassuring movements. Tears burned his tightly clamped eyes. It didn't happen. It couldn't have happened. He would never attack his father. His father would never hurt him like that, try to kill him with his bare hands. It was a nightmare. It wasn't real. For his father would never, ever call him . . . a _freak_. Leonardo panted out a strained cry.

"I am sorry, my son," Splinter murmured as if reading his son's exact thoughts at that moment. "Forgive me. I was not in my right mind. Please, Leonardo. Forgive me."

By degrees, fragile composure came back to him. Still trembling uncontrollably, he pushed the heels of his hands into the floor and eased himself up; sitting on his bent knees. His head was low, eyes downcast with fear and shame and sadness. Splinter reached out and took one cheek in hand. Gently, he turned his son's face to look at him directly. Leonardo stubbornly kept his eyes turned away; a deep frown crushing his features down.

"My son," Splinter said quietly and then slowly Leo met his gaze with blinking, watering eyes. "No words can express my sorrow. Forgive me. I-" the rest of what he tried to say caught in his throat. He shook his head, at a loss.

With a hesitating motion that quickly fell away, Leonardo swept his arms around his father and pulled him close, burying his cheek into Splinter's frail shoulder. His chest heaved as he quietly, but intensely cried his pain into his father's frame. With broken, hushed words, punctuated by choked sobs, he told him what had happened to him on that roof a year ago. With the Mistress. Confessed what she had done to him. What he'd participated in. How it had affected him afterwards. His lingering shame and finally . . . his emotional pleas for forgiveness.

Master Splinter took his son's quaking shoulders and eased him back. Leonardo dashed the tears away from his cheeks with his knuckles as if afraid that only now his father would see that he'd been crying and was ashamed. Splinter's robe was soaked through from Leonardo's tears. The wetness seared his son's shame and fear into his fur, his skin, his spirit.

"Leonardo," the boy hiccupped and Master Splinter gave him a moment to collect himself further, then he went on, "How could I blame you for something that was done to you against your will?"

"B-But I-I –"

Splinter shook his head firmly. "Your response to this vile demon-woman," he spat the words, "is understandable. It is a natural thing . . . for a man to respond to attention of that kind in such a way," he said with a sigh. Leonardo dropped his head, cheeks flushed. "However . . ." Leo's face snapped back up, his frightened, glassy eyes darted between Splinter's steady amber gaze. He braced himself, fearing the worst. "You must be stronger in the future. You must guard against any further thoughts of this demon. You must fight against them and push them from your mind. For I fear she uses our deepest longing as a weapon against us."

Sniffling, Leonardo nodded, "H-Hai, Sensei. I will try."

Master Splinter patted him on the shoulder. He looked behind Leonardo and his eyes widened at the sight of his son's mattress. Leonardo noticed his father's tense stare. He twisted to see what his father was looking at. He fell back onto one thigh in shock. His mattress was covered in blood.

"Are you . . ." Splinter's mortified gaze swept over Leonardo; searching. "What did I . . . My son."

Leonardo glanced at his wrists and ankles then back to his bed. In confessing to his father, a memory that he'd forgotten or rather cast aside as unimportant rose up. It was of the Mistress coming into his cell after they'd taken Raphael away; beaten, with a bag over his head. The moment that he'd despaired and she entered the room with that ornate bowl. The blade at his throat. The murmuring spell. The way his blood pearled and jumped and the strange singing sound it made. The spell that would lead to opening the portal through his sacrifice. The spell that bound the Mistress still to this world.

"I-I know how to stop her," he said, feeling sick and shaken.

He should have known all along that it was his fault. All of it. If he'd had been stronger, none of this would have happened to them. He failed in protecting his family. But he would rectify his failure. There was only one way to sever the link the Mistress had to his family and her world.

He gazed past Master Splinter's head to the ceremonial blade hung on the wall near his printed screen and meditation candle. He had to be strong. Stronger than he'd ever dreamed he'd have to be.

* * *

Outside the lair, down the tunnel to the right, April walked, hands in the pockets of her black hoodie; head down. Worry and regret nagged at her. Purple bags shaded the bottoms of her eyes. Her night was filled with tossing and turning and very little sleep. She'd thrown on a pair of old sweats and a baggy t-shirt before topping it with her sweatshirt and hadn't even stopped to brush her hair. Loose locks of it hung around her face. She was sure she looked as awful as she felt.

Her mind was a chaotic jumble of what she could say or how she would say what she needed to say to Donatello. Not to mention how she would approach Leo and the painful subject of the Mistress. As she turned the bend, her tumultuous thoughts were roughly interrupted as she slammed into someone. They fell back with a shout of surprise and pain. Blinking and rubbing her head she sat up to see that it was a young man that she'd banged into. Her eyes went wide and she scrambled to her feet just as the guy was swearing and climbing to stand as well. A young man just walking through the sewers? Maybe he was homeless or lost or both.

"What the hell!" he snapped as he swayed onto his feet. Then his eyes rose up from under a thick fringe of dark bangs and met hers. Whatever else he was about to say stuttered to a halt in his throat. His mouth snapped closed and he swallowed audibly.

April felt her heart trip and stumble as their gaze locked. She couldn't help but allow her vision to wander. Her eyes roved over the man in front of her. His eyes were a deep blue like the color of twilight just after the sunset in the summer. It looked as if he'd been in a fight, for one eye was darkened and slightly swollen. Somehow it only seemed to add to his gritty attractiveness. And he was attractive. Extremely so. He could've been a model for designer jeans or something.

April couldn't think straight as she looked at him. April felt her face warm as a blush spread across her cheeks. Suddenly she was painfully aware of her own shabby appearance. She really, _really_ wished she at least had brushed her hair before going out this morning. His hair was long and roughly layered and hung just to the top of his wide shoulders. He was wearing fingerless leather gloves, a denim jacket, a white t-shirt emblazoned with some hockey team logo stretched across his broad chest, a pair of torn jeans hugged firm thighs, and brown steel-toed boots adorned his feet.

"Uh, oh, I-I'm uh, sorry about that, miss," he stammered politely as he rubbed the back of his head.

"N-No, no! All my fault." April held up her hands, placating. "I should've been watching where I was going, down here."

Coming down into the sewers, Casey had expected to see slimy rats and huge roaches and while he'd seen plenty of them, the last thing he'd expected to ever see was a red-headed woman who looked like something out of a Hollywood magazine. She was gorgeous. She was the best thing he'd ever seen. Vaguely he wondered if she was doing some exotic fashion shoot or something down here. Whatever the reason she was down here, he was sure happy that he took that last turn that he'd been debating as he tried to remember which way Raphael's home was.

Suddenly realizing that he was staring at her, he dropped his chin and pursed his lips. Oops. _Don't be an asshole, Casey,_ he thought. Unsure of what to do or say next; feeling nervous and oddly exposed; he decided to act natural. He looked around and settled for shrugging and shoving his hands into his pockets. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet and started to whistle nonchalantly.

That was apparently funny to her, because she giggled. Casey turned a shocked look in her direction and smiled. He didn't know why but he felt like he needed to say something witty or smart, but his mind raced and he came up with nothing. They both chuckled again and then fell into an awkward silence. They looked everywhere but at each other. Then as if realizing exactly at the same moment just precisely where they were standing, they froze and their gazes snapped back to each other.

"Uh," he stammered.

"Yeah, hmmm," she said. "I have to . . . um . . . there's, ah . . ."

"Yeah! No! Me too."

Casey took a step back and April took a step forward. He turned and picked up the black bag he'd dropped when he collided with her as well as a huge overstuffed bag full of sports equipment. He took a few steps and glanced over his shoulder to see the woman still following him.

"Uh, be seein' ya, then," he said and turned back towards the direction he'd hoped was Raphael's home.

April wondered if he was lost or one of those hobos that collected odd assortments of items. He certainly didn't look homeless to her. But he did seem confused. And it was more than a little unsettling that he was so close to the guys' lair.

Casey did a double take as he noticed the red-head still following him. He frowned. What was up with her? He staggered to a halt. What if she was lost? Or needed help? He spun back around and she abruptly stopped in her tracks, hands up.

"Hey! Uh, oh, aheh, sorry," he didn't realize she was so close behind him and nearly knocked her over with his bag as he spun around. "Y-You okay?"

"Huh?" she asked, biting the corner of her bottom lip.

"I mean. Are you okay?" he asked again slower. What if she'd bumped her head and rolled into the sewers or something.

"Yeah. Fine."

Dumbfounded, Casey stared at her. He cocked his head to the side. "Mind if I ask ya, why're down here then?"

Her mouth opened and closed. She slapped the sides of her thighs and shrugged with a shake of her head. "I, uh, jog . . . down here," he finished lamely. Her stomach sank. He'd have to be an idiot to accept that lame excuse.

"Oh." Casey straightened up. "Well. Be careful. There's some drop offs that're kinda dangerous."

April's mouth hung open. Casey turned around and started searching around. Her heart sped up as he came closer and closer to one of the secret entrances. In fact, he put his hand right onto the pipe that unlatched the locks and made the gears turn to open the doorway.

"UM!"

Casey looked over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't do that."

Casey's eyes went from her to the pipe back to her again. "And why not?"

Fumbling, April couldn't think of an answer. Then the impossible struck her like a bucket of ice water. It couldn't be. And yet, here he was. Right in the precise spot, holding the exact pipe that undid the lock mechanism that Donnie had installed with her help. She narrowed her eyes, her heart pounding in her chest.

Praying for guidance, she made a leap and asked, "Do you . . . know them?"

Casey's eyebrows couldn't go much higher up on his head without making him look like a cartoon character.

"Th-Them?" he stammered and brought his arm down. The locks creaked, popped; the gears spun and groaned as the door slowly broke from the frame and dragged forward just enough to squeeze a body through. Casey shot her a grin, eyes twinkling in a way that shot a bolt of sudden desire through her and said, "Don't know whatcher talkin' about." He ducked his head and squeezed in leaving April standing in the tunnel, mouth hanging open in shock and denial.

* * *

**A/N: **Now, now. I've written plenty of fics where Donnie gets the girl. Its time Casey caught a break, the poor sweetheart. Besides, just how do you think Donnie is gonna react to seeing April after what "she" did to him the other night? For his first time, it would've been pretty traumatizing - even if she's innocent. That would be hard to get past.

Now take a deep breath and please review - and if it's any conselation to you, Tender Trap part 3 is coming and they are quite happy where we left them last in that series! XD

Hm, and Mikey seems to have had an unexpected effect on the Mistress - your thoughts on that?


	13. Ch 13 - The Hard Choice

**Chapter 13 – The Hard Choice**

* * *

Donatello sat on the edge of his bed, leaning against the wall near the foot of the mattress. He'd been there all night after he'd patched himself up and wrapped his shoulder. He hadn't dislocated it, but the pain was enough that he'd been worried he had. From the way he could move it, though, he knew that wasn't the case. Based on his limited range of movement and the type of pain he was experiencing, he was sure a tendon had torn. The fall from the window had jostled him, but struggling while tied to that metal chair had made it worse. There was nothing much he could do about it other than wrap it, secure his arm and take a few anti-inflammatory pills.

Unable to sleep, his mind pondered and raced while his heart searched for some shred of hope; some possibility to grasp ahold of; to hang on to; to draw courage from. But time and again as the long hours of the night wore on, he came up with nothing. Only the raw aching feeling in his heart that matched the low throbbing ache of his body between his legs. His head rested against the rough surface of the bricks and he sighed. With weary, blood-shot eyes, he stared ahead; looking at nothing; feeling empty and carved out. There was no logic to stand on. No reasoning that could offer cold comfort; but comfort nonetheless. Nothing made sense. He was adrift on a sea of malaise and regret.

Had he only known it would have turned out like this . . . he shook his head. What? Would he have seriously reconsidered his feelings for her? Probably not. He picked at the end of the sling cradling his arm. How could he have ever guessed that April was capable of such cruelty? It made no sense. He sat up and rubbed his sore neck with his free hand and sniffled. Hours ago he'd run out of tears to cry. His eyes burned and ached. But now the question was . . . how. How would they move on from this?

He sat quietly and contemplated the question. He thought of the past year. Her hesitation, her confusing signals, her whispered promises only to leave him cold time and time again. And yet, he never questioned it. Like the lovesick fool he was, he looked past it to the hopeful thought that somewhere in the future he would be holding her; giving her everything he had; all of his love; all of him. But the longer he waited, the further that dream seemed to be pushed back; until now it was so distant, it was non-existent. Don pushed his mouth into a tight line.

No, the question wasn't how. The real question was _why should they?_ It was obvious that she didn't respect him. Hadn't she hurt him enough? The moment he lost his composure she treated him like he was trash. The worst part was how dirty he had felt all night long. As if his desire for her was a filthy thing. And her abuse was somehow his fault. Maybe that's how she saw it after all. A lump formed in his throat as his deepest fear took root and held fast. She'd told him when he confronted her about the visions the Mistress revealed to her that she didn't think it was disgusting or revolting to think of him in that way. And yet, all along, she said one thing, but her actions spoke volumes of something different.

He shifted where he sat and grimaced. _She really hurt me,_ he thought sadly and his anger grew. Is this how humans dealt with relationships? When they were angry with each other and romantically involved, did they hurt one another so coldly? He swallowed dryly. Well, he didn't deserve this. Any of it. He stared forward into his room. He came to a decision. The next time he saw her he would tell her that. He sat a little straighter. It was over. He was done. He wouldn't be treated so poorly. Things were going to change between them. He nodded to himself firmly. The next time they talked, in no uncertain terms, he would tell her that if she still wanted to be with him . . . that things would . . . have to be different. For one thing, she would have to explain to him exactly how she felt about him and why she didn't want to do anything more than kiss. He was sure that once he firmly, but gently, demanded the truth . . . they could work something out. He would understand how to be better for her and help her see that it wasn't his fault . . . what he looked like on the outside. She would understand. He was sure.

Then he would make her apologize for hurting him. An idea struck him. Yes. And she'd have to do something for him to make up for it. He blinked and looked around blearily with sleepy eyes trying to come up with a suitable thing she could do. He set his cheek on his knuckles, elbow propped on one knee; heavy exhaustion weighed on him. He yawned. She would have to do something to make up for this. It would have to be something special. Something just for him. His tired mind reached, straining to imagine something good.

Maybe make him his favorite pie . . .?

The sound of the side entrance opening caught his attention, pulling him from his rambling thoughts. Frowning, he glanced at the clock. It wasn't too early, but no one would use that way unless they were sneaking back in from being out all night and he knew Michelangelo told him that Raphael had come home last night. Could Raph have gone back out while he was attending to his wounds in the bathroom? Not likely.

With Leo and Master Splinter recovering, it fell to him and Raph to keep guard over the lair. Standing on wavering legs, he grabbed his bo and headed out of his room.

* * *

As Casey gazed around the expanse of his friend's home, he was amazed at how comfy it all seemed. In the dimly light space, he made out a large television set, a punching bag hanging in one corner, a low coffee table with empty pizza boxes laid out, surrounded by some chairs and a couch. The worn in furniture had a homey feeling instead of a discarded one. The board games and comic books strewn about near the couch was an added touch that Casey smiled at. Across the way, a night light still shone in the brightly painted kitchen. This was much better than that run-down motel room.

He skipped down the steps and tossed his plastic bag of belongings into one corner where an old full-sized pin-ball machine sat. He ducked his head and pulled the strap of his golf bag over his shoulder and head and carefully leaned it next to the plastic bag. Glancing around, he wondered where Raph was and how he was going to ask about staying for a while.

He hoped that the hot jogger went on her merry way, but also cursed himself for not asking for her number. He twisted around. Part of him wanted to run back out there and see if she was still around. But at that shocked expression on her face when he slipped in here, she probably thought he was some kind of maniac living in the sewers.

He sighed as his shoulders slumped. Typical Jones luck. Just when things were looking up. Fortunately for him, his dad had been passed out when Casey made it to his apartment. He'd checked the old man's pulse just to make sure he was alright and before he left that morning, he'd turned him onto his side so that if he vomited, he wouldn't choke to death while Casey was gone. He'd left a scrawled note on the kitchen table, explaining that he'd be gone for a few weeks, but highly doubted his father would read it and even if he did, he probably wouldn't even care.

As he twisted back around, he jumped as a long wooden rod came out of nowhere aimed at his head. He hollered and dropped. The staff swung, missing his face by inches. He scrambled backwards on his butt as a lanky turtle wearing a purple mask with one arm in a sling glowered down at him. One of Raph's brothers he'd heard so much about.

The questions were fired at him aggressively, "Who are you? What are you doing here? How did you get in here?"

Casey continued scrambling back, one hand up in a peaceful gesture. "Hey, Hey now! I-I'm a friend of your brother's."

The mutant did not look convinced. In fact, he looked like he was ready to crack his skull in two. Casey ducked as the turtle lifted his arm back. Casey rolled to the right just as it came down. He rose up on one knee, hands out.

"Fuck man! I come in _peace_!"

Donatello stalked two steps forward. He twirled the bo around his head with one hand and swung again. This one clipped his shoulder and Casey barked out a shout of pain. He turned and rolled into a somersault to put some distance between him and his attacker. His face darted about. He really didn't want to fight this guy. Based on the green skin and shell, he was Raph's brother for sure. But he wasn't going to stand around and be a punching bag either. Casey gave up trying to convince the enraged mutant. Instead he opted for going simple. He started to holler for Raphael.

"RAPH! Raph! You here, Buddy!? Raphael!"

Donatello's face dropped into a frown as the stranger started screaming out his brother's name. His steps faltered. The grip on his staff went slack. How did he know Raphael's name?

"Oh my gosh!"

April's voice behind him had him snapping around. Their eyes met.

"Donnie!"

_Oh god._ He blanched to a light green as his stomach clenched and the bile burned the back of his throat. His eyes were circles of fright punctuated by the deep circles left from a night of no rest. His heart tripped as his mouth went dry. What was she doing here? The hurt and the questions surfaced in a rush of tangled emotions. The painful thoughts of the night before crammed into his mind, crowding out any further thoughts or worry over the intruder to the lair. _How could you do that to me? Why did you hurt me? Don't you know I love you? April, I love you. How could you hurt me that way? It was my first time with a girl._ They jammed into the back of his throat where they stuck and a choked sound was the only thing that escaped.

He knew it would be awkward to see her again, to say the least. But he didn't expect the debilitating pain to render him speechless and weak in the knees; the deep humiliation to rise up suddenly and drag his stomach to the floor. And in a million years, he would have never guessed she'd dare show up here the very next day. Once again, he underestimated her coldness.

His panicked mind scattered and blanked. He turned around to flee as his heart sped up. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly. His head shook back and forth. No. He couldn't handle this. No way. It was too much to bear. Too much. He wasn't ready. His knees turned to jelly as all the strength fled from his legs and his stomach turned to ice. His rubbery legs knocked into each other as he pitched to one side; feet stumbling; tripping; he slammed into the armrest of the loveseat and fell in a clumsy heap to the floor. Dropping his bo, he scrambled to stand, keeping his eyes off her as they darted around for a path of escape.

"Donnie, what's the matter with you?"

He heard her voice but blocked out the words. Couldn't handle even trying to process what she was saying to him. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He just had to . . . had to go. Now!

Raphael emerged just in time. "What the hell is going on out here?" He stopped in his tracks as his red-rimmed eyes fell on Casey. His expression turned to one of shock. "Casey . . . what're you . . ."

"Raph!" Casey pointed at him, one hand on his throbbing shoulder where Donnie had connected with his bo. "Him!" he said to Donatello as he raced past him, oblivious and with the only intent of getting out of the room as fast as possible. "That's the one I know," Casey finished feebly to Donatello's retreating shell. He turned back to Raphael.

"Oh man, buddy, am I happy to see you! Hey, uh, you mind tellin' the rest of your family to back off."

He jabbed a thumb in the direction of where Leonardo and Master Splinter stood staring just outside Leonardo's room, mouths open at the intruder. Leonardo was being propped up by Master Splinter. One arm was wrapped around his middle. He held a sword in his other hand, body tensed and ready to attack.

"Erm, Relax everyone. I know this bonehead."

Raph leaped down the stairs and stepped over to Casey. He grabbed him roughly by the arm and spoke from between clenched teeth, "What're you doin' here?"

Casey glanced back at Leonardo and Master Splinter with eyes wide. "Th-That you're dad you were telling me about?"

Raph shot a panicked glance in his older brother's direction. He let out a sigh of relief as he realized his brother didn't catch what Casey had just said. In fact, Leonardo seemed out of it and Master Splinter didn't look too good either. Just more things to pile on to the growing pile of stress that was burning a hole through his stomach. Taking advantage of his family's apparent distraction, he yanked Casey's arm towards the exit. He was sure he would catch hell later for telling a stranger where they lived. That and then he'd be forced to explain his extra-curricular activities that he engaged in with the fellow vigilante. He took a steadying breath. One shit-storm at a time. He had to get Casey out of here.

"Let's talk outside," Raph growled and pulled him through the turnstiles.

* * *

April walked across the room towards Master Splinter as she caught the last sight of Donnie disappearing into his lab. She didn't understand the strange response he had to her arrival. But brushed it away. She'd talk to him after she saw to Master Splinter and Leonardo. And Raphael apparently was friends with the dark haired guy she met in the tunnel. _How . . . interesting_, she thought with a fleeting smile. That new and exciting information was tucked away to explore at a later time.

Turning back to Splinter, she noticed the bandages on his head and the battered shape that Leonardo was in. An unsettling thought hit her. Donatello had said something about Master Splinter having several episodes yesterday morning. Could his injuries be related to them? Had he fought physically with Leonardo? The thought was nearly too horrible to even consider.

She approached the two of them as Leonardo turned back to his room without greeting her or even acknowledging her presence. He was clearly distracted by something. He muttered something she couldn't catch under his breath to Splinter and the old rat nodded. He lifted a claw and stroked his son's face before dropping it away. The tender exchange left an oddly foreboding feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Master Splinter," she started and gave him a gentle hug as he turned away from Leonardo. The turtle entered his room and quietly closed the door behind him. April did a double take but focused on Master Splinter. "Are you . . . are you feeling better?" she asked, eyeing the bandages wrapped around his head. He seemed calm and more like himself than she'd seen in so long, it was almost uncanny.

"Yes. I am . . . myself once again."

April blinked, hardly daring to believe it. But he seemed so coherent. This was the clearest he'd been in so long. Her heart leaped with joy as tears sprang into her eyes. She pressed her forefinger into her lips. How could this miracle have happened?

"That –" she swallowed. "That's so good to hear. I'm so happy. How? I mean, you weren't . . . I mean to say . . ." she fumbled not wanting to be disrespectful but wanting to know how the transformation had occurred. She decided to leave it up to Donatello to explain to her. No doubt he knew what had happened to heal his father so dramatically. "What happened here?" she asked softly as she indicated his head.

Splinter's eyes turned glassy and bright. He clutched at his robe near his heart as if suddenly feeling pain. "A misunderstanding . . . an altercation." He gave Leonardo's bedroom door a sidelong glance, fleeting but April caught it. Her worst fears seemed to be confirmed. Her heart sank for both of them and what it must be putting them through. "It is nothing to concern yourself with. Nothing important." He paused, leaving April only worried more. If they had fought, and it seemed they certainly did, then the emotional strain must be crushing them both. If only there was some way she could ease their pain. But April could think of nothing that she could do. And the guilt of her upcoming conversation with Donatello only made her stomach twist and sink further down.

Splinter spoke gently, pulling her away from her thoughts, "Please, allow me to make us both some tea. It will help us be calm." His voice wavered and a bolt of irrational fear lanced through her. He seemed fearful of something. And she knew it revolved around Leonardo. Something was wrong. Her body went rigid as her face shot to his door.

"I need to talk to Leonardo first."

Splinter's head snapped up. "I am not sure he is up for company at this moment."

She bit her lip, not looking at him, she said, "It's okay. I won't be long. I need to talk to Donnie, anyway." Before he could protest, she slipped into Leonardo's room. Determined to find out what was going on.

She found him sitting on the edge of his bed. An ornate sword at his side, his hand was wrapped loosely around the hilt; the blade partially propped on one thigh. His other arm was braced on the top of his opposite thigh, palm up. His face shot up and their eyes met. He looked as if she'd just caught him in the act of doing something wrong. Eyes wide and he swept them away quickly. It looked suspiciously as if he were about to harm himself. Her breath froze in her suddenly tight throat.

April leaned heavily against the door, hands behind her back and they stared at each other; speechless. Her eyes dropped and roved over to the mattress he sat upon. His bed was stained with what looked like blood. Her stomach sank as she considered the implications. _Was . . . Was Leonardo cutting himself?_ Just the thought made her feel weak and sick to her stomach. He promised that if things became too heavy that he'd tell his brothers what happened. She knew he was under incredible stress with Master Splinter's illness, but she just couldn't believe that he'd resort to something as hopeless as this.

She moved to step forward but found the strength in her legs gone, instead, she fell to her knees and crept to kneel before him. He shifted and slid the sword's blade away so that it wouldn't cut her. She took his clammy hand in both of hers. She gazed up at him and reluctantly, he turned his face to meet her gaze. She stared into his lost and deeply saddened eyes. There was a hint of fright there that unnerved her. He only looked this way once before. A year ago when he'd come through her window on that snowy evening; trembling and weary, shaken and scared out of his mind. The night he told her what happened to him.

Summoning her courage, she choked, "Leo. Talk to me."

* * *

Outside the entrance to the lair, Casey stood, hands in his pockets as Raph paced back and forth in front of him agitated. He glanced over his shoulder back to Raph's home and realized with a start that the pretty red-head seemed to know them, too. He filed that away in the back of his mind as a perfect conversation starter to use to break the ice with her the next time he had the chance to talk to her. Of all the people to run into in the sewers . . . another friend of his green buddy's. He shook his head, bemused at the wondrous coincidence of it all. Raph's infuriated tirade cut through his happy thoughts.

"I don't know what the hell you were _thinkin'_ coming here. I told you that this place was supposed to be secret. Do you even know what that word means?"

"Uh, yeah. I do. But after you trashed our hide-out, I . . . didn't have much choice. My dad's on one of his benders and . . . c'mon Raph. What was I supposed to do? I didn't want to sleep under that bridge again. Remember all the roaches?" He shivered. "Christ, there were a lot."

Raph looked at him blankly. Then guilt twisted his face and he dropped his eyes away. He rubbed the back of his neck. Casey was practically homeless because of his rampage. Because, yet again, he couldn't control himself. He really was disgusting. An _animal_, he thought with a sharp twist in his heart.

"Oh . . ." was all he could manage.

"Yeah, I know. And I got to be on the receivin' end of it with Keesha. It wasn't pleasant, let me tell you. That woman's a beast." He rubbed his ribs, still sore from that encounter. He stared in a glazed way in the distance and suppressed a shudder as he remembered having to endure her rough groping yet again. It wouldn't have been so bad if she wasn't fifteen years older than him – or so freaking rough with those pointy nails. His eyes refocused on Raph.

He said softly, "She said you were screaming bloody murder and that she could hear you all the way across the lot. You're lucky she didn't get her uncle up there."

Raph only stared at the ground between them, saying nothing. The expression on his face was one of embarrassment and shame. Casey felt bad for him. But that sympathy vanished as he recalled another detail of his encounter with LaKeesha. He snapped his fingers, Raph looked up.

"Oh yeah. Her and her uncle . . . they want three hundred for the damage."

Raph's face fell. He suddenly looked like he was about to be sick. "_Three_ . . . Oh, shit. I-I . . . I'm really sorry, Casey. I . . . lost it back there. Wasn't thinkin' that you'd get the short end of it."

"No kiddin'. I could tell not a lot of plannin' went into your little tantrum. So, that place is blown. So much for our heal-up spot." Casey eyed him. He pressed his lips together then leaned in, "What the hell happened anyway?" Casey looked around and said in a lowered voice, "You didn't . . . uh, you didn't do nothin', did you?"

Raph blinked uncomprehendingly at his friend. He frowned and shook his head slightly.

Casey licked his lips and bobbed his head once. He held up his hands as if to aid his explanation. "I mean, you didn't," he shrugged, clearly uncomfortable, "you know . . . hurt her or nothin' . . ." He narrowed his eyes, "Did you?" His face crushed into a slightly sympathetic but at the same time slightly disgusted face as Raph's eyes widened in horror. He shoved Casey back so hard that the man stumbled and fell to the ground with a grunt. He groaned and rubbed his aching ribs.

"Ow, dammit, Raph. My ribs," he cursed under his breath with a hiss of pain.

"What the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean? And what's with that look?"

Raph started to pace furiously again. This was perfect. Just what he needed on top of everything else. Just when he didn't think his wretched life could get any more pathetic. The one friend he had in the world - the _only_ friend he had in the world thought he was a monster. His fists clenched and unclenched.

"Hurt her? Did I _hurt_ her? What the fuck? You think I'd do something like that to a . . . a defenseless . . ." he shook his head, swearing under his breath. Then he stopped abruptly. He narrowed his flashing green eyes as he glared down at Casey. "You too?" he asked, voice dripping in betrayal.

Casey climbed back to his feet, dusting himself off. "Me too, _what_?"

"You guys are all the same, you know that?" he spat. Raphael's eyes glittered in the dark tunnel. He huffed through his nose. He put his hands on his hips and looked away, unable to meet Casey's eyes. "I thought . . . I thought you were my friend."

"Hey, _hey_! C'mon. It ain't like that." Casey reached out to Raphael but the turtle shrugged his shoulder away and roughly pushed past him, going back inside.

"Back off," he growled.

"Raph. Raphael. I am your friend. Hey," Casey tagged along behind him. "Look, I just wanted to know what happened back there. You got a temper, you know? I didn't know what to think."

Through gritted teeth, Raph said over his shoulder, "Yeah right. I'm an animal, right?" He shook his head in disgust.

Casey stopped; straightened. "What?" he asked completely confused.

The entrance door slammed in his face.

"Dammit. Raph. Raph, my stuff's in there."

Muttering, he tried the handle and found it unlocked. His eyebrows rose. He slipped inside, making sure to give his clearly pissed off friend plenty of space. He slunk around the edge of the room and eased himself onto a chair, keeping one eye on Raph the entire time. He sank deeper into the chair hoping that no one would notice that he was still there. Maybe if he kept a low profile he could stay while his dad was on his bender. Raphael didn't exactly tell him to leave, after all.

"Mikey!" Raph barked. "You make breakfast yet?"

He needed something to eat. He felt hollowed out and empty and the roiling in his stomach was only making things more difficult. The last twenty four hours of his life had been nothing but a roller coaster of panic, frustration, fury and pain. He wanted grease in the form of bacon and sausages and he wanted it now. He stomped over to the empty, deserted kitchen. Deserted except for Master Splinter making a pot of tea. He staggered to a stop.

"Uh, hey, Sensei," he blinked as Splinter turned around and nodded deeply once in his direction. Raphael blinked again, not believing his eyes, fighting the urge to rub them and look again. Master Splinter seemed . . . better. His head was wrapped up for some reason, but his eyes were bright and clear. He seemed like . . . _himself_. Finally some good news. "How ya feelin'?" Raph ventured, still in shock at finding him in here as if nothing was ever wrong with him.

"I am feeling much better this morning, Raphael." There was a timber to his voice that seemed unsteady; weak. Raphael chalked it up to him being up and on his feet so much after being sick for so long.

Raphael rubbed the back of his head. This seemed almost too good to be true. Was his father really in the kitchen making a pot of tea or was he hallucinating from being so hungry and not sleeping all night?

He turned towards Michelangelo's bedroom, he needed to fetch his brother if only to get someone else in here to make sure he wasn't actually hallucinating after all. Master Splinter stopped him, "We need to discuss the sudden appearance of your friend, Raphael."

"Oh . . . yeah. Uh, he's . . . he's good, Master Splinter. He's a good guy. Just needs a little help. Needs a place to crash for a little bit."

Splinter's eyes dropped. He hmm'd but said nothing else. He turned back to fetch a mug. Was Raphael imaging things, or did his father's hand tremble as he reached for the mug?

"It is good to be there when a friend is in need. Though I would have preferred our home to have been kept secret."

"Uh . . . right. Sorry about that, Master Splinter." Raphael fidgeted where he stood. He decided to change the subject. "Um, how about I get Mikey to make us some breakfast, huh? You haven't eaten with us at the table in a long time." He could not hide the fragile excitement in his voice. This was a dream come true. He'd need to ask Donnie how the heck this happened. Maybe his genius brother had come up with a cure or some other scientific miracle solution.

Splinter nodded and said over his shoulder with a sigh in his voice, "Yes. That would be nice." Raphael saw Master Splinter's shoulders slump and his head lowered. He spoke to the tea pot in front of him. "There is something of great importance I need to discuss with you and . . . your younger brothers." That strange wavering hitch was there again. Raph frowned.

"Uh, okay," Raph said, confused at his father's suddenly grim tone. Nearly missing the fact that Splinter withheld Leonardo from that statement, but brushing it off; thinking they'd done something to get into trouble over and Mr. Perfect was, as usual, somehow exempt.

The television in the living room flicked to life. Raph glared over his shoulder as Casey burrowed deeper into the chair; the remote poked out, aimed for the television set.

"And you and I will discuss the situation with your friend, later."

He grumbled under his breath. Of course they would. Just when he thought he was doing somethin' good. He just couldn't win no matter what he did. He spun on his heel. The anger and frustration boiling up once again just beneath the surface.

"Hey, _Mikey_!" Shaking his head he marched over to his younger brother's door and rapped on the wood with his knuckles. "Get your lazy ass out here. You were on breakfast duty this week! Get out here and make Master Splinter something ta eat! He's hungry and so am I." He waited a moment. "Don't make me repeat myself."

He tapped his foot as he waited for some response. From beneath the crack of the door, Raph could see light coming through so he knew the little shit was awake. Probably hiding in there slacking off and readin' one of those stupid comics he liked so much. He waited a little longer for his brother to say something. Raph was not in the mood right now to play games. He was tired, and hungry and pissed. He shook his head and cracked his knuckles, grinning without mirth.

"Alright, ya had yer chance. I'm comin' in ta get ya."

He pushed open the door and stumbled inside from shock as a blazing light blinded him. A blast of powerful wind pushed against him as he braced his legs firmly and planted his feet into the floor.

"Mikey?! _Mikey_!" he screamed.

* * *

**Review! Pretty, pretty please!**

**I haven't forgotten about Deborah - she just isn't the main focal point here. XD**


	14. Ch 14 - Expiate

**Chapter 14 – Expiate**

* * *

"Leo, you can't be serious," April said, still kneeling on the floor in front of him.

Her mind reeled from the information she had just been presented with. Leonardo was afraid but he was determined to protect his family. She had to think of some way to talk him out of what he was convinced was the only way to sever the ties the Mistress had between her world and his: his sacrifice. He had shifted several times as he spoke quietly to her of his plans and his reasons behind them. April never moved an inch. She knew kneeling in front of him like this, between his legs made him uncomfortable, but it served a purpose. She did it in part to keep him in place and in part because she felt too weak, too overwhelmed by this to move even if she wanted to. But she was afraid that if she backed off even a little, he'd bolt. Or do something worse. She glanced at the sword held loosely in his hand, then moved her gaze to meet his. His eyes bore intensely down into hers but there was a wavering panic dancing around the edges. That manic look made her feel frightened and shaky like a child standing in the shadow of a looming monster.

"I have to. April, there's no other way. I have to put an end to her, once and for all. She wants revenge against me and is using my family to get it. I have to stop this."

"But Donnie . . . you haven't even told him. I'm sure he can –"

"Can what?" his question cut her off. It was whispered and soft and it fell like a lead curtain over her shoulders. "What is he going to do? Give me a vaccination?"

He chuckled but the humor in his tone was flat and his eyes were dark pools of despair. April's stomach fill with icy terror. Her friend. Her dear friend, who was more like a younger brother, was determined to do this terrible act upon himself.

He went on in a voice that was even yet wavered around the edges, "This is magic, April. She bound herself to my blood in that cell. When I was on that roof, at her mercy . . ." he paused to swallow. "I knew what the outcome would be. She said I was her vessel. She used my body . . . my blood to open a portal."

His eyes roved to the blood stains on the mattress next to his bare thigh. April followed his gaze and stared at the rust-colored smears; dry; glaring and obscene like a still from a pornographic video. A lump had formed in the center of her throat, choking her; making it hard to breathe.

"And she continues to use it." Slowly his eyes met hers. "To use me. To come here and hurt me by hurting them."

"B-But Leonardo, I'm sure Master Splinter –"

"He knows." Leonardo's eyelids fluttered as his gaze dropped to his lap. "H-He agrees."

April's mouth fell open. Numbly she shook her head. There was no way that Master Splinter had agreed to Leonardo taking his life. Alone. In his room. With his brothers just outside going about their day. This was insane. It was madness.

"I've already explained my plan. Sensei . . . Father agrees it's the only way."

With a trembling bottom lip, April shook her head fiercely. "No. No! You are not doing this. Leo." He looked to one side. April could see the tears that built but did not release along the edges of his bottom eyelid.

She croaked, "_Leonardo_. You . . ." she struggled. "You didn't even say goodbye to your brothers." Her face crushed into a deep frown as his glassy eyes snapped to and then froze on hers.

_"I can't,"_ the words were a hitched breath coursing from between trembling lips. He couldn't explain to April that he didn't want his last moments fighting with his siblings whom he loved more than anything else in the entire world. That he had to do this. For them. To keep them safe. _They would fight and try to stop me. Then all would be lost. _He finally had his father back. He would not allow the Mistress to hurt anyone in his family ever again. He was sure this was the way to end her connection to this world. He was certain. He accepted his fate; trying to fight the panic and the fear of what he had to do. April was not helping. This was why he retreated to his room when he saw her come into the lair. He had to be alone for this. He needed his courage and her sadness and fright were weakening his brittle resolve.

April rose up on her knees. She gripped Leonardo by the sides of his arms tightly. Cheeks flushed with anger and frustration, fear and desperation, she said, "Well, I'm not going to let you do this."

He couldn't take much more of this. "April, I need you to leave," he said in a low firm voice that belied no fear, only commanding respect.

Her eyebrows raised. Stubbornly she replied, "I won't." Two tears, swollen and thick, flooded her eyes, spilling over the rims.

"You will. You're going to leave me to my duty."

He moved to stand and there was no way April could've stopped him, though she tried. She tried with all her might. His sheer strength without showing any effort at all astounded her. Without being hurt, she was smoothly forced back onto her heels. Her arms fell away as he stood. The ornately decorated sword was gripped tightly in his hand. April cursed herself for not making a grab for it when she had a chance earlier. While he was explaining that the only way to stop the Mistress was to end his life. He stepped around her, moving with sleek grace and stood near the door. She twisted around, digging her fingers into the throw rug on the floor. He appeared calm and stoic; waiting for her to get up and leave him to his final act of sacrifice as eldest, as leader, as loving brother and son. Her heart was racing, filling her ears with her thundering pulse.

"Goodbye, April." His throat worked. His eyes flashed too bright suddenly. He swept them away from her gaze. In a thick voice, he spoke softly to the floor between them, "Thank you for everything."

"I _won't!" _she shouted and slammed both hands down against the floor.

Leonardo turned the knob of the door when the sound of Raphael screaming out for Michelangelo had them both jumping. Leo was gone in an instant while April scrambled to her feet. She followed Leo out of his room and ran towards the sound of the frantic brother. Donatello and Master Splinter were just outside of Michelangelo's room, arms blocking their faces from the unexplained rays of blinding light shooting from the room. The ends of Don's mask and Splinter's robe were flapping from the gale force winds billowing from the doorway. A roaring sound filled the lair. Casey was just behind her; a hockey stick in one hand, a bat in the other.

"What the hell is that?" he shouted over the thundering roar. April could only shake her head.

Leonardo looked at Don as he ran up next to him; bracing his legs in a wide stance to remain standing. He squinted and thought he saw the outline of Raphael in the doorway. "What's happening?! What is that?!"

Don shook his head, at a loss. With his free arm, he pointed into the room. He yelled, "Raph's in there! And I-I think Mikey, too!"

Leo wasted no more words. He knew who was behind this. With a grim expression, he moved to go inside when his body went rigid and he fell back onto his carapace; skidding across the room. The sword still stubbornly clutched in his fist. April and Don raced to his side followed by Casey and Master Splinter. Donatello fell to his knees next to his brother. His body seemed to be smoking. Thin tendrils of gray vapors rose from his limbs. His eyes rolled up into his head as he started to seize.

"Oh god!" April gasped. "What's happening to him?"

His body jumped and bounced as Donatello carefully rolled him to his side. It was a challenge, using just his good arm, but he finally managed to do it. Don grimaced as he pried his hand out from under his brother, bracing his aching, bound arm against his brother's shuddering side for leverage. He lifted his hand and found it coated in a thin sheet of bright red. His wide eyes fell to his brother's wrists. Reaching down, he grabbed one and held it still. He blinked and leaned closer; examining and wiping at the delicate flesh with his thumb. The blood seemed to be coming out of his pores around the old scars from last year's terrible escape from the Foot.

Donatello's mind raced. He thought of the nightmare, of finding his brother on the floor, shaking in fright, mumbling about a nightmare, the mysterious blood stains on his mattress. The golden woman flashed through his mind. It was all connected. He knew it. Knew all along. He should have acted sooner on his hunch. He should have convinced April to tell him. He needed information if he was going to figure out how to make this chaos end. His face snapped to April as he set his brother's wrist down. He jumped to his feet and lunged at the woman; grabbing her roughly by the front of her shirt with his free fist.

"Tell me what happened to him! _NOW!"_ He snarled. He shook her shirt roughly, nearly ripping it; screaming in her face. "_Everything_! Do you understand me?!"

April nodded; wincing from the harsh treatment at the hands of her usually cool-headed friend. Her words flowed in a rapid stream from her lips, "H-He was attacked by the-the Mistress woman on the roof. The golden woman who was here! H-He thinks she used his b-body and blood in a sort of sexual sacrifice to open a portal to her home dimension!"

Donatello's face dropped into an expression of horror and disbelief. His jaw clenched and unclenched. He couldn't believe she had kept this from him. Promise or not. If he knew something this devastating about one of her family members he would've told her. He would've trusted her to keep the secret if she had to. But he would've had faith in her enough to confide the truth to her. But she had never trusted him. Not completely. Not in any way that really mattered. His heart sank. Something within him withered and shrunk.

"You should've _told_ me!" he shouted, then more quietly, "you should've told me."

"Don . . . I know that now. And . . ." her voice hitched. "I-I'm so sorry."

He dropped his hold on her rumpled shirt and fell back a half step as Casey came up next to them. Donatello had a strange look on his face. As if he were struggling with some internal turmoil. As if he was decided on whether or not he would say something to her. April found her heart hammering and her breath frozen in her throat. Her eyes bounced between his.

She knew what he needed to say. It was written clearly in his eyes. She could see it; the pain; the regret; the ending of something rare and fine. Something precious now lost. In that moment she wanted to fall into his arms and beg him to forgive her. For everything. For keeping the secret in a misguided attempt at loyalty, for keeping him strung along while she couldn't accept what her own heart was telling her, for everything. But some part of her knew it was only the power of the moment making her feel that way. The reluctance to release something that you no longer have any right to own.

"Take it easy, there, bud," Casey said defensively. "This ain't her fault."

"No?" he asked with a bitter tone, never taking his eyes off her face.

The look of indecision on his face vanished. Any warmth within those chocolate eyes was now replaced with an emptiness that made goosebumps rise up along her arms. In that moment, April felt something sever between them. Some fragile invisible thread had finally snapped, the frayed edges rippling far away from each other, never to be joined again. Donatello's eyes were distant and flat as he stared into hers. Furious and burning with frigid intensity they bore into her. Accusing and hateful. Like he didn't know her at all. April dropped her face into her hands, unable to bear the look any longer. It was over between them. And not a word was ever even spoken about it.

"I'm so sorry. I should've told you sooner," she mumbled into her hands.

"Yes," he snapped. "You should have."

And with that, he turned away from her without a backwards glance. He dropped back down to Leonardo who had recovered from his seizure. His wide eyes rolled, looking up at the ceiling and the walls as if he searched for something solid to latch on to. Master Splinter knelt near him, looking shaken and aged. Leonardo's seeking gaze landed on his father. Their eyes met. They stared into each other for a moment and something passed between them. Splinter gave him the slightest of nods. A ghost of a smile raced across his mouth before falling away; one of deepest love; of infinite pride.

Leonardo shakily rose up on one elbow just as Donatello crouched. Before anyone could move, Leonardo moved his fist still gripping the hilt of his sword. He swept the razor-sharp blade across his upturned forearm; cutting a long deep gash through the flesh and tendons. He clenched his eyes closed tightly and hissed in pain but made no other sound as he bowed his head.

_"Whatareyou doing!?_ Donatello screamed as a curtain of blood spilled over his brother's arm, pooling thickly beneath his quivering limb.

April looked up at the shrill sound of Donatello's voice. "No! Donnie, stop him!" April lunged forward but felt a pair of calloused hands gently but firmly hold her back. She glanced over her shoulder to see Casey restraining her.

"I dunno what's goin' on here . . . but I think you should stay back. It ain't safe."

April bit her lip and nodded, suddenly feeling her quaking body succumb to the stress of the past hour and the long night of tossing and turning. What help could she possibly give? How much worse could her involvement make matters? Donatello was right. She should've been honest with him from the start, promise or no promise. They were family. They needed to know. She felt her stomach flop and twist as her heart constricted with guilt and regret. Everything was her fault. Her misguided intentions had led to her not only letting down the boy who was infatuated with her, but also ended up nearly costing one of her dearest friend's his life. She held on to her stubborn convictions and they were the ones to pay the price. She slumped bonelessly to one side, propped up by the strong arms of the man she had only just met an hour or so earlier. It was too much.

"Hey. I-It's gonna be okay," he murmured in her ear as he gently eased her away from the brothers wrestling on the floor. His tender attempt at reassurance touched her heart and she couldn't stop the tears from cascading down her cheeks. If only it was that simple. She wondered if anything would ever be okay between Don and his family and her ever again.

Donatello cried out in frustration as he grappled with his brother. Leonardo had moved the hilt of the sword as if to switch hands, no doubt to slice across his other arm, when Don had pounced on him.

"Donatello!" Master Splinter called from where he sat rigidly with a look of distress and sadness etched into his features. "Your brother . . . he must . . ." he faltered and fell silent.

Leo's growl was soft and unthreatening, his words were weak, "Stop, Don . . . I h-have to!"

Don growled fiercely and struggled, his knee slipping in the growing pool of his brother's blood. Leonardo's strength was already fading. His face grew paler by the second. Deep purple circles formed under his eyes.

"_Leo_," he ground out in pleading desperation.

Tears burned in the corners of his eyes. Had everyone gone insane?! He choked as Leonardo's body bucked and for a second he was afraid his brother was having another seizure. But it was merely an attempt to throw him off. The force in his brother's efforts was waning. And it couldn't have happened sooner, for his arm was a fiery agony of pain from his injured shoulder to his fingertips. He used Leonardo's weakened body from the seizure and the blood loss to his advantage. He twisted his wrist, bending his brother's hand at a right angle making his fingers involuntarily release. Leonardo made no sound as Don tore the handle of the sword away from his brother and threw it across the room with a wordless shout. He stopped to catch his breath and clutched at his throbbing shoulder and winced as he fell onto his thigh, wet from his brother's blood.

Leonardo, defeated, turned his head to one side. "It's the only way to break the spell, Don," he said meekly in a strained voice between shallow gasps.

Donatello shot a look at Master Splinter then over his shoulder bristling in pain, into the bright flickering light of Michelangelo's room. Silhouetted in the doorway was the unmistakable bulky shape of his younger brother.

"Raph!" he barked hoarsely. "Don't go into that light!"

His mouth hung open as he watched the form twist as if he were turning towards them, listening. There was a heartbeat where Don thought he'd come out into the living room so they could regroup and make a plan. But a second later the shape straightened up and rushed forward. He was swallowed by the blinding rays.

"_Raph_," Don panted, suddenly exhausted and feeling all the strength drain from his aching limbs. He ran a dry tongue over his bottom lip and turned back to his brother. There was no time to wallow in his own misery, both emotional and physical. He had to help Leonardo before he laid there and bled out. He looked at Master Splinter.

"I need the first aid kit, Sensei," he said breathlessly. Splinter rose up and sped from the room swiftly and without a sound. Donatello placed a trembling hand over Leonardo's wound. His brother lay motionless, staring off to one side.

"Don . . ." Donatello started at the sound of Leonardo's voice. It was low but even. "Raph . . . and Mikey . . . They're in danger. You don't understand. I-I have to finish this."

"Right now, you have to lay still," Donatello replied, just to keep his brother talking.

He couldn't think about what his brothers may be facing beyond that mysterious light. He had to focus on saving _this_ brother's life. He'd have to just hope Raph could manage finding Mikey on his own and bring him back before Leonardo got desperate again and decided that a sacrifice to that goddess was a necessary evil.

_Hurry, Raph. Hurry back from that light. _The light that he understood with a sinking clarity and grinding dread was emanating from a passageway to another dimension. A dimension where a god-like demon in a woman's form stalked them in all her immeasurable power.

* * *

**A/N: Expiate = To atone for**

**We are nearing the finish line!**


	15. Ch 15 - Oblation

_"We been playin' like children, honey,_

_now we're playin' like _men_._

_Those parts that got outside _

_I'm gonna put them back in."_ - The Quotidian Beasts, Phosphorescent

* * *

**Chapter 15 – Oblation **

* * *

The world vibrated around him. Grinding him down, pressing him to the ground. Skin trembling in time with it; his joints throbbed and his skull felt as if it were collapsing incrementally. His prone body was tensed and held rigidly. The weight of the air pinning him. He was unable to move; couldn't even if he had tried. His mouth hung open; baring his incisors in a grimace of silent anguish. He panted; making soft keening sounds with every exhalation. The pressure in his chest made every breath a struggle. The air seared his throat and made his eyes water and tear despite being clenched shut. A touch on his bare shoulder sent electric shards through the muscles straight into his aching bones.

_"Haah!"_

"Michelangelo," her voice purred over him. Running across his skin like tiny electrical currents. Buzzing and burning as they traveled. "Open your eyes."

The words started soft only to grow and pound down upon his sensitive ears. The very air seemed to be a constant pulse of a drum beat. Almost musical. The sound of her voice only increased the pressure in his head. He whimpered.

She sighed with impatience. "This suffering is unnecessary."

He jumped as he felt the touch again. But instead of making his bones ache, the point of her fingertips brought warmth. The feeling radiated through him, warming him, soothing him. The pressure eased back. The drum beat waned but didn't stop completely. It was distant and on the very edge of his perception like the vague threat of a thunderstorm lurking on the horizon of his senses. He blinked the tears away and, trembling, pushed himself up onto his knees.

Glancing around, he tried to get his bearings. But the room, or cell or whatever it was seemed to blur every time he tried to look directly at the thick veined walls. The pain in his head swelled as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The color of the walls were an off peach tone with darker purplish veins rising from the floor to the domed ceiling. Light from above, filtered and soft, poured down around them. It bathed everything in a pink glow. He continued to feel as if he were tilting. Like he was situated on a sinking boat. His stomach flopped and he swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. He was going to be sick. He covered his mouth with one palm. His head spun. Pitching over, he fell onto his right side, boneless and heavy. Unable to blunt his fall.

Laughter fell around him like petals flitting through a breeze. His eyes rolled and wandered, trying to focus on something that wasn't shifting or swaying.

"You are adapting. Only . . . I wonder how much more you can endure."

The voice came from a lanky shape hovering just above him. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. But all he could make out was more light and the vague outline of a feminine body gleaming a bright gold. His eyes burned and watered.

"Wh-Where am I?" he panted out from beneath his palm. He still felt as though he were about to be sick.

"My realm."

His glassy eyes widened as she crouched down and began to slowly work her hands over his calves and knees up towards his thighs. Then higher. Waves of tingling sensation flowed out from her fingertips wherever they made contact. He gritted his teeth and his body tensed as her hands came together near his lower plastron. His heart galloped as she pressed down. He shook his head and grabbed her wrists.

"No! Stop!"

To his relief and amazement she paused and he released her as she eased back. Her face was a mask of gold, devoid of expression. A light poured out from the holes where the eyes should have been. Her head tilted, face turned towards his as her voice rose up from behind the gleaming surface of the mask, "The power will not adhere if the vessel is unwilling. You will perish if you make me force the conception."

He didn't understand what she was telling him. He didn't want to know. All he knew that he was in trouble and he wanted to go home. The little turtle girl had transformed into this strange being and though she hadn't exactly hurt him, just being in this whacked out place was causing him pain. Scrambling back, he found moving was easier now than it had been only moments before. His shell hit one side of the veined walls and his stomach roiled as the squishy surface sprang back slightly from the impact. It was like he was inside a great beast's stomach. He gave a shake of his head. No, he couldn't think like that. He'd only make his nausea worse.

She started to crawl towards him. He closed his eyes and braced his hands against the wall to either side of his body and used it to inch to standing. His knees felt like rubber bands and his head swam. He pressed his palms to his mouth and gagged. The Mistress froze then sat up on her heels. He couldn't see eyes in the blank holes of her mask, but he could feel her watching his every movement.

"You will expire if you do not accept my power inside of you. You're corporeal form is not enduring within my dimension as I had hoped."

Moving in a blur of speed, she was in front of him. The image of the golden woman shifted as if her signal was being scattered. She reformed as her hand stroked the side of his cheek.

"I do not wish you to be harmed. I will do this quickly. But you must accept it into your body."

"I just want to go home," Mikey pleaded softly.

"You have no idea what gift you are about to give to your family," her voice purred into his ear as she continued to stroke and pet at his cheek. "Your brothers will cherish this sacrifice. Our offspring will be their future." The words didn't make any sense to him. He felt rather than heard anything she was saying. His head grew drowsy. His eyelids blinked slowly; heavily. Yearning blossomed inside him, making his stomach tighten and his legs shake.

"I want . . . to go home."

"You will," she said. "You will return to them . . . after."

Her hand now moved over the side of his throat, down over his collar bone to linger over his chest, just above his hammering heart. The power flowed out over her hand into him. Filling him. Warmth and silky coolness rushed through him, alternating between desire and contentment. The scent of honeyed peaches overwhelmed him, making his mouth water. He was losing his composure; being stripped of his defenses just by standing in her proximity. Just by the lightest touch of her hand on his chest.

Feelings, soft yet insistent, fluttered through him; wisps of nostalgic sentimental happiness swept over him. It felt like Christmas Eve as he wrapped his presents for his brothers and father. It felt like the first warm Spring morning; damp and lush; so full of promise and potential. It felt like feeding his brothers their favorite meals on their birthdays, perfectly raised cakes pulled from the oven; warm chocolate chip cookies. It felt like snuggling up to watch a horror movie, feeling the tingle of anticipation of the thrill ride he was about to go on. It felt like the moment he saw her, as a female mutant, like him. The immeasurable joy that rose up within him at his discovery of one like him. Just like he'd dreamed. All the promise that her being presented; that he didn't understand but somehow _knew_. The missing piece of his existence.

Finally, he felt the remembered joy and contentment of being with his brothers. Raphael's reluctant embrace so full of unconditional love when he finally gave in and hugged him as the protective walls came down . . . Leonardo's smile; warm with the complete devotion of a protector; like a second father . . . Donatello's glance full of surprised but deep pride at something he'd discovered or made.

Mikey brought his forehead down and rested it against the Mistress' mask. The mask was cool and tingling against his flesh, but not unpleasant, it brought him back to the moment. Twin tears trailed down the sides of his face as he knew his resistance was gone. His damp eyelashes blinked leaving tiny traces of moisture on the surface of her golden mask.

"Just," his throat caught. "Don't . . . hurt me," he whispered and his face colored slightly; both from shame and desire.

Her laughter echoed and bounced all around him. The light behind her mask grew brighter; surrounding them; engulfing them.

* * *

Raphael heard Donatello shout something about staying away from the light. He stood; motionless as he absorbed the warning and quickly discarded it.

"Fuck that," he ground out.

He twisted around and faced the light; the gusting winds that smelled like copper and soured milk. Mikey was in there. He was sure. With a deep breath, he rushed into the blinding portal.

There was a feeling of weightlessness. For a brief moment, he felt dizzy with a drunken joy as his body vibrated and thrummed as he moved from one dimension into another. An awed smile spread across his face. But as he barreled forward, the blissful sensation was stripped away and the pressure came. He slammed into the ground, face first. The force of his impact shoved him forward and the ground peeled away from his clawed fingers as he tried to gain purchase and stop his forward momentum. He groaned. His head felt like some giant was squeezing it from either side. It hurt to open his eyes and as he squinted, they instantly watered and teared. His muscles bunched and he pushed against the spongy ground with all his might. He would not let something as stupid as dimensional forces keep him from getting his little brother back.

Gathering his senses, he growled at no one in particular. The sound grounded him and gave him strength. He took in a searing breath and screamed for his brother.

_"MIKEY!"_

* * *

Within the light was only sensation. Joy. Ripples of pleasure. Mikey floated in an ethereal plane of bliss. Soft and light, he drifted like a feather. No destination. There was only the light. A pastel yellow that was both cooling and warm at the same time. Far away, where his mind still operated, he wondered if perhaps the golden woman had killed him and he'd gone straight to heaven. Far away, he felt friction and pressure but then intense pleasure changed the light around him to a deep pink. He gasped and opened his eyes.

He was on his back, straddled by the golden woman. Her pelvis ground hard against him and he was inside her. His mouth gaped and he gasped. His rigid body tensed and they were suspended in that moment, neither moving, both consumed by the intimate connection of their two bodies becoming one. His fingers clawed with clumsy urgency at her bare thighs. He needed to . . . to . . . he didn't know. His instinct kicked in. His hips strained to buck and thrust but he couldn't move. Desperation coiled within his clenched stomach. His toes dug into the damp floor. Sweat pearled and streaked down his head.

_"P-Please!"_ he cried.

The Mistress brought her hands together. As they clasped one another, they shined a dazzling white. Slowly she brought them down towards his quivering stomach.

"Mikey! Get offa him, you _bitch_!"

The sound of Raphael's voice boomed like a thunderclap around them. The Mistress hissed in frustration. She recoiled and rolled off of Michelangelo. The sudden removal of her body from his made him contract in shock and discomfort. He rolled to his side, panting and shaken. He fought for composure and glanced up to see a black silhouette outlined in flames of dark purple.

"You!?" The Mistress screamed. She stood up and strode across the expanse separating Mikey from Raphael. "I closed the portal! How is this possible? How did you get here?" The Mistress' mask remained blank and without expression but her voice conveyed her confusion and distress. Her head darted around as she ran her hands through her hair in a panicked, frightened motion. "No! No! You'll ruin everything!"

Raphael blinked then growled. "I dunno who or what the hell you are, but you're gonna step away from my brother."

With a snarl, the Mistress reached out with one fist and then jerked her hand back. Raph grabbed at his temple and fell to his knees. He felt a terrible pulling pain from the center of his mind. As if someone had just stomped into his brain and yanked a large chunk of his mind free.

The pain eased and Raphael cracked his eyes open. Then straightened up immediately. He was on the floor in the motel room. His face darted around. _What? Where am I?_ His head felt heavy and groggy as if he'd just woken up from a long nap. A nap that left him with a headache and a mouth full of cotton. Smaking his lips in distaste, he slowly climbed to his feet. Feeling disorientated and shaken. _Why was I on the rug?_

Dimly he became aware of the shower running in the other room. The sound of the squeak of the faucet being turned off reached him. Shakily, he sat on the edge of the mattress which took up most of the room. His head buzzed and he struggled to think clearly. Wasn't he just in the middle of something? He dropped his head into his palms and rubbed his eyes furiously with the heels of his hands. Something nagged at him. It was something bad. But he felt so angry and bad most of the time, it was almost a natural state for him. But still . . . he knew there was _something_. He just had to remember. It was right there. Right in front of him. His face snapped up. Before him, skin moist and shimmering from the shower, was Deborah. His heart jumped into his throat.

She was smiling down at him, coyly. Her hair hanging in limp wet locks over her shoulders. His eyes followed the tendrils of water drizzled down from the tips over the mounds of her breasts to hang for a fraction of a second before dripping from her erect, pink nipples. Raphael's eyes widened at the sight. Without thinking, before he could stop himself, he leaned forward. The tip of his tongue slipped from between his lips and he caught the next drip before it could fall. The taste was sweet. Sweeter than anything else he'd ever had. The very tip of his tongue grazed her nipple with the lightest touch. She tilted her head back and moaned. His green eyes snapped up to see her cheeks flushed; full lips parted as she panted with lust. His body reacted and he groaned as he emerged, unable to constrain himself. His fingers curled into fists as he gripped the blankets on the sides of his shuddering thighs.

His face blushed and he was barely able to meet her eyes. But he needed to look into her eyes. This was too good to be true. He needed to see her desire for him. Her acceptance of him. His hammering heart stumbled with a fearful hope. Could she really want him? Was this real? A pain slid through his head and he cringed slightly.

Finally, their eyes met and locked. They flashed gold for a second and Raphael frowned. Deborah had blue eyes, he thought vaguely. A distant thought crawled around the edges of his mind. It was unpleasant and made his head throb. Something about his brothers. Mikey? He brushed it away. He didn't want to think about them right now. He jumped as he felt her fingertips caress his cheek. He couldn't stop himself and he leaned into her touch.

"Deborah," he murmured in disbelief.

"I want you Raphael."

The tone of her voice was off. It sounded hollow and blurred. It echoed in the room in a strange way. Raphael's brow dropped. He inched his cheek away from her touch. Something was wrong here. How long had he ached to hear those words fall from her lips? How many nights did he spend imagining what it would be like to have her want him like that? And now here she was, standing naked before him like a beautiful dream. But another thought streaked through his mind.

Deborah's angry voice cut through his thoughts. The memory of her voice, high and shrill with fury. Here in this very room.

_Fuck __**you**__, you . . . fucking –_

_What?! WHAT?! Say IT!_

Raphael's eyes dropped closed as crushing disappointment squeezed his hopeful heart. "What did you say?" he asked in a choked voice.

"Raphael, I want you. Make _love_ to me, Raphael."

She stepped closer. His rigid body twitched, but his heart was beating hard with half-remembered hurt. It beat not from lust, but anger. Frustration and despair. Her scent swept over him. Jasmine. That wasn't Deborah's scent. He knew her scent better than his own. He reached with shaking hands and gripped her bare hips. She was so close. All he had to do was pull her closer and he'd be able to bury himself into her sweet softness. He could lose himself in her tender, inviting flesh. Instead, he kept her away. He would not crumble to this lie. She didn't want him. He would not open himself up again only to be caged and humiliated. To be reminded of everything he could never have. He closed his eyes tighter. The pain in his pounding heart increased. Stabbing him with every beat. The pain was good. He would not break like this. The pain sustained him. Pushed him forward towards the truth. He would not be blinded by its light. He would embrace it and welcome it. Because he would never again be hurt by it. Never again.

"Make love to you?" he huffed out a laugh even as his chest tightened. "Y-You want to have sex with me?"

"Yes."

"But . . . Deborah." He looked up at her.

A flash of irritation swept over Deborah's perfect face. Her blue eyes flickered with something like doubt.

"I'm nothin' but an animal, _remember_?"

He shoved at her and she stumbled back. Gathering herself quickly, a look of fear and shock flashed across her features, smoothly replaced with humor.

"What are you talking about?" she laughed. "I want you," she said with a shake of her head. She reached out to him.

Raphael stood. His lips pulled back into a feral snarl. As he did his figure seemed to swell and grow; looming over her. The shadow behind him growing ominous and huge. Deborah shrank back, dropping her arms protectively in front of her.

"Raphael," she started in a wavering voice. "You're scaring me."

And indeed, the Mistress knew her ruse was at an end. She should have guessed. The despair that dwelled within this one's heart was too ingrained for him to break free from it. Even with the promise of physical delight within his grasp. He was lost. A small part of her, the part that existed off the very nature of passion and lust, felt sorry for the beast. He would never know the unadulterated exhilaration of release. The euphoria that hid within the heated moment of that overwhelming joy.

"You don't want _me_," his rumbling voice grew louder, booming around her. "I'm nothin' to you. Nothin' but a **FREAK**!" he roared.

The façade of the motel room froze and then erupted. Shattering like crystal. Falling shards cascaded around them. Sparkling and crackling like fire as they turned to ash and blew away. The black shreds scattered around the Mistress where she knelt in front of Raphael, hands clutched to her head. The mask was gone. She was in human form. Vulnerable and shaking. Raphael stood before her trembling with pure rage and despair. Tears streaked down his face unbidden and uncontrolled. They were once more in the surrounding organic walls of the Mistress' dimension. They swelled and seized as if enduring pain. The world tilted and spun. The Mistress cried out in distress.

"You cling to your despair like a _fool_!" She raised a tear-streaked face to Raphael. "I could've given you happiness. You could've experienced the love of the woman you desire!"

Raphael glared down at her. Fresh tears broke loose and he made no move to wipe them away. He shook his head numbly. "It wasn't real. I knew it." He jerked a thumb at his heart. "In here. Couldn't 'a been."

"B-But –"

His voice was even and low, rumbling, "You don't get it." He stared into her. His vivid green eyes shining and bleak. A mirthless grin cracked his face, bearing his fang as he tilted his head, "Freaks like me don't get those kinds 'a happy endings."

She dropped her head. He was truly lost. She had no power over him. And she knew what drew that emptiness. She braced herself for his arrival. There was nowhere to hide.

Michelangelo stared in wonder from just behind the Mistress. The words his brother spoke broke his heart in two. He knew that Raphael had a dreary view of the world and their places in it. But Mikey had always held onto the hope that someday, like April and Donnie, he might find someone who accepted him and maybe would even come to love him. That Raphael felt so completely alone and lost was too much to bear. He had no idea that his brother felt this way. He decided in that moment, as he wiped the tears from his eyes, that he would try his hardest to help Raphael find happiness in this life. Even if it took forever. He would not let his brother's despair consume him.

But even as he thought this, his eyes grew round as his brother's shadow swelled; rearing up, larger than his body. Too large. It twisted and coiled and finally it emerged; solid and terrible. The form it took was a bulky warrior. Broad across its chest, it raised four arms and stretched. A featureless face framed by a pair of coiled ram's horns, twisted from side to side. The sound of snapping bones filled the air. A thick tail, split at the very end, lashed back and forth behind its legs, which were draped in a pair of wide-legged pants. The material flapped in the gusting wind. White eyes, devoid of pupils blinked sideways once and the head tilted down to peer at the woman sitting on her knees in front of him and the mutant turtle. He ignored the turtle and all his focus tuned to the small form of the female.

The Mistress raised her head, unable to disguise her trembling. "Eblis," she spoke his name softly. "You have found me at last."

Raphael, eyes on Michelangelo, stepped around her; ignoring the exchange, raced towards his younger brother.

"Mikey, _Mikey_! You okay? You alright? Did she hurt ya?" he babbled. Mikey shook his head numbly, still stunned by everything he'd seen and felt and heard. His trembling body could barely move as Raphael yanked and pulled on him. "Okay, get up. Move it. We gotta get you outta here."

Eblis raised four thick arms and brought them slamming down upon the Mistress' tiny form. She raised petite arms up over her head to block the attack, but it did little to protect her. Over and over the fists rained down on her crumpled form. A thundering peel of laughter brought Mikey and Raph to their knees as they moved to race around the struggling demons. The brothers fell and rolled in a heap. The pressure of the air crushing them; making it once again hard to breathe, hard to move.

Unable to look away, Mikey watched the male demon assault the Mistress. He picked her up and shook her in his mouth like a dog savaging a rabbit. Mikey cried out from the violence of it. The beast threw her to the ground and pounced. It grabbed her and began tearing into her arms with its spiked teeth. No blood spurted from the wounds, but rather, golden light. Spilling out and arching as blood would have. The Mistress shrieked in pain. Raphael grabbed Mikey by the armpits and hauled him to his feet.

"The opening! I came this way . . . I think!" he screamed in his face; eyes wild from the effort of fighting the dimension's onslaught of pressure.

But Michelangelo's attention was directed at the struggling woman beneath the bulk of the black demon. "He's tearing her to pieces," Mikey whispered in a broken voice. Raphael's face snapped over to the demons. She had twisted around and was trying to crawl out from under the beast. He had reared up and back, braced on his four large hands. A stream of light was pouring from the woman's back and back of her head as she scrambled away. Her face was a mask of complete terror.

Raphael's hand wrapped around Mikey's face from the back of his head. He tugged roughly at his brother's head.

"C'mon! Numbskull! Leave 'em be! What're you standin' around –" Michelangelo brushed Raphael away with a rough shove from his shoulder. "Mikey . . ."

Mikey hollered, "Can't let him do this!"

He fumbled a few steps and fell to a crouch. Raphael couldn't believe his eyes as he watched his little brother grip the woman by her wrists and pull her free from beneath the large black demon creature. He was still rearing back, indulging and soaking in the last tendrils of her precious light. His head lulled to one side as if in a drunken stupor from gorging on it.

"Mikey . . ." Raph started as Mikey scrambled past, the Mistress' flickering form leaning heavily on his side. One arm was wrapped around her back and waist, the other held her wrist tightly that was draped from around the back of his neck. "Mikey!" Raphael raced after him. His body tilted to one side and bracing his weight with his hand he swore. It felt as if the boat they were standing on had hit rocky waters and had started to pitch from side to side. The pressure on his body was making it harder and harder to breath the sour air. But the light loomed ahead.

The Mistress bounced and struggled to keep up with the young mutant's pace as he half-dragged her to the entrance back to his world. Eblis had drained the last bits of power from her. The little left was the only thing keeping her alive at this point. Her body was shutting down. The effects of her own dimension were starting to crush her human form. Her nose started to bleed actual blood and her stomach lurched. She tried to brace herself and make him slow down. But his legs pumped on. A determined look on his face.

Weakly, she asked, "Wha . . . What are you doing? Just leave me -"

He shook his head fiercely. "'M saving you!" Mikey shouted.

Blearily, she looked towards the light of the portal. It flickered. She knew it was closing. With the destruction of her power the opening would close forever. How it had remained opened for his brother to come through was a mystery. Then it hit her. Her magical bond with their brother's blood. She had forgotten to release him of it. The very thing that had sent her home after a millennia of exile was the thing that led to her demise. She was too tired to consider the irony.

She rested her head on the mutant's cool shoulder. His heroics was touching. She had known heroes in her time. The eons had erased their deeds from actual memory to be reduced to myths in the human records. Michelangelo and his brothers were truly unique in the world of humans. They were modern heroes and yet went unheralded and their selfless deeds remained hidden. The Shredder was wrong to seek revenge against these creatures. They should have been worshiped not degraded and hunted like animals. If she had the chance, she would have made this one a god in his own right, she thought wistfully. They would have ruled together, breeding and enduring, spreading their unique kind into the spanning reach of the future. But that would not be.

She was happy - she realized with a shock - that she had gotten to be with them, one way or another. And how strange how she had underestimated this one. His effect on her was close to frightening. She remembered the look of pure joy on his face when he first encountered her guise as a female mutant turtle. It was a thing of beauty. She decided to repay his selfless act with a gift. Heroes deserved gifts for their acts of courageousness, after all. And in truth, it was a gift to herself as well, for she wanted nothing more than to die seeing that beautiful expression on his face once more.

With a final push of the last remaining thread of her power, she shifted and her form shrunk even smaller. Her skin darkened to a soft green, the pale yellow pattern of swirls and stars rose up along her right leg, arm, neck and cheek. The diamond patterned shell swirled and solidified on her back. The heaviness jerked her off-balance. Mikey stumbled. But without pausing in his stride, he reached down and scooped her under her knees. Lifting her up and holding her tightly to his chest. He blinked in shock at her appearance and then looked straight ahead as he leaped through the closing portal.

With a burst of cursing, Raphael lunged forward just as the portal closed.

. . .

They tumbled and fell; rolling one on top of the other. Michelangelo took the brunt of the impact. Bracing his body so that he protected the small female in his arms as best as he could. He grunted as he felt Raphael's bulking frame slam into him from behind. They had careened clear out of his room into the center of the living room in the lair. A gust of wind and a zipping sound followed by a crash and a buzz of electricity filled the air. Then the silence rang, deafening in Mikey's ears. He glanced down at the Mistress' body. His breath froze in his chest when he didn't see her moving or breathing. He brought his cheek down close and turned his head, listening for any sign of life. A caress of an exhale brushed his cheek. Goose-pimples broke out over his body. He spun his face around to see her orange eyes opened a crack.

"Inanna," he whispered.

She blinked and frowned. Her eyes darted to one side then another. She carefully patted her face and neck.

"I think . . . I'm _alive_."

Michelangelo chuckled.

"No. It isn't funny," she snapped, though her voice was weak. "I-I mean . . . I think I'm . . . _mortal_," she said more to herself than to Mikey. And as she said it, she knew it to be true. Her power was gone. Eblis had drained her. The trip through the closing portal along with her last change in form had used anything that had remained within her. She was mortal. She would die one day. _ Die. _The thought stunned her. Her fingers roved over her collar bone to the rim of her plastron. She pressed at the strange, malleable substance and froze. _Oh no. No._ A choked noise broke from her throat.

She was not only mortal. Her blood turned to ice. She was trapped in this form. Forever.

Suddenly, Mikey was surrounded by his family. He felt Raphael's large hand pat him on the back of the head as he asked him how he was. Donatello's voice, urgent and worried, came at him, asking him a hundred questions at once it seemed. Master Splinter was standing next to Leonardo who looked pale and weary. It was clear that Splinter was holding Leonardo upright. His left arm was wrapped in a wide bandage that spanned his wrist to his elbow. April dropped to the floor next to him and some strange looking guy with dark hair stood just behind her. His face was a mask of comical shock and surprise.

Their combined voices shouted questions and comments; overwhelming him. After the pressure and constant thrum of the other dimension pounding his ears it was at the same time the best sound he'd ever heard and the worst. He ducked his aching head.

Inanna stirred in his arms and slowly he realized he was crushing her. The volley of comments and questions continued unabated. But as he straightened and sat up, and she drew a long, much needed breath, one by one they fell silent as they realized what he held in his arms. The silence stretched out as no one moved or spoke or breathed.

Splinter was the first to break the stillness. In a shaking voice, he said, "Michelangelo. What have you done?"

* * *

**A/N: ** DUN DUN DUN! XD

Oblation (a thing offered to a god)

Eblis - Persian demon that literally translates to "Despair"


	16. Ch 16 - Caged

**_A/N: Nice long chapter for you to sink your chompers into!_**

* * *

_"In the land of gods and monsters_

_I was an angel._

_Living in the garden of evil -_

_. . . shining like a fiery beacon._

_You've got that medicine I need._

_. . . put your hands on my waist, do it softly._

_. . . Innocence lost." – Gods and Monsters_, Lana Del Rey

* * *

**Chapter 16 - Caged**

* * *

"Holy shit! Th-That's a girl one!" Casey exclaimed the obvious, shattering the dead silence that fell right after Splinter's hushed question. His wide-eyed expression bounced from April at his side to the four turtles to Master Splinter. "A girl one of you!" he repeated to Raphael as if astounded that no one seemed as excited as he did at the moment of his discovery. Raphael had often complained about how it sucked to be the only mutant turtles on the planet, stuck in a sentence of isolation with only his brothers to spend the rest of his days with.

"We got it," Don snapped at him.

April shot him a hurt look and he turned his face away from the two of them standing so close. Ignoring the sight of Casey Jones' arm slung around her back and the wave of jealousy that swelled and pushed at the edge of his reason. Donatello stepped back. He rubbed his tired face with his free hand. Only moments ago he was suturing Leonardo's veins in his left arm that he'd sliced. A few more minutes and his brother would've bled out on the living room carpet. His shoulder was aching and he felt drained. None of this made any sense and he was too weary to try and figure out just what was going on here. He just wanted to close his eyes and sleep for a week. Maybe when he woke up he'd find that all of this had only been a long drawn-out nightmare.

Raphael climbed to his feet and put his hands on his hips. He didn't understand it, but that women in the other dimension was the turtle female in Mikey's arms. Either that or the kid grabbed a girlfriend on his way jumping dimensional portals.

"Michelangelo," Splinter's voice, sharp and full of anger rang out. "Look at me!" Mikey looked up and by inches met his father's eyes. He kept his head ducked low between his hunched shoulders. He felt Inanna's face press into the side of his neck and her body nestled into his chest as her arm tightened around his neck.

"I-I couldn't just leave her, Sensei," he explained in a hesitant voice. "There was this monster . . . he was killing her."

A choked noise brought everyone's attention to Leonardo, who was pale and shaking.

"My son –"

He gasped and gritted his teeth as he pulled out and away from Splinter's hold. His expression was murderous. He lumbered forward.

_"You!" _he snarled.

Instinctively, Mikey covered Inanna's body with his arms even as he cringed back from his oldest brother's incendiary glare.

"Whoa, Leo . . ." he started, but before he could say anything else, Leonardo pounced with deceptive speed. He threw his large hands on the female and dragged her out of Michelangelo's arms by the back of her neck and shoulder. He spun around and pulled her to the center of the room. Only steps away from the spot where he'd sliced his arm open in a sacrificial attempt to banish the Mistress from their lives forever. The protests of his youngest brother and the shouts of surprise faded to white noise as fury blasted any coherent thoughts away. Half his size, Inanna fought and kicked but it was like a child fighting against a boxing champ.

"You! You!" he said, his voice gravelly with the growls coming through his throat. He shook her and she groaned and kicked at his plastron; bracing her feet fully against his stomach at one point, before her legs fell back to the floor. Leonardo dragged her down, choking her, until the back of her head was against the blood-stained rug. He climbed on top of her, panting, eyes wild with rage. The attack on his father's mind, the pain that his mental instability had brought upon them all, his private suffering this past year, the hidden shame and terrible longing, the sensual nightmares that left him feeling deep humiliation upon waking splayed across his damp sheets . . . it all bubbled up as his fingers tightened around the slender neck. He had her. Vulnerable and powerless. He finally had his chance to do what he couldn't do before. Destroy this succubus demon once and for all.

He spoke from between grinding teeth, "What are you trying to do, _huh, Mistress!_? You trick my brother into saving you? To bring you here? You think you can fool my brothers," spit and foam struck her in the face as she writhed. Tears streaked down her rounded cheeks. She strained to take in air. _"You . . . can't . . . fool . . . me!"_ he snarled.

An icy finger of fear traced its way along the back of her neck. Leonardo's darkened eyes stared into her own and she could only see his rage . . . his burning hatred for her in that moment of passion. But that was not necessarily a bad thing. For if there was an absence in his gaze, then she would be doomed. That he possessed such _strong_ emotions for her still, now that she could _use_.

April screamed, "Stop him! He's killing her!"

Donatello grabbed Leonardo's shoulder but Leo shrugged him back violently. Don fell back onto one thigh with a grunt. Pained lanced through his throbbing shoulder. His groin still hurt from the abuse at April's hands the other night as well. He grimaced and caught his breath.

Leonardo had her. And she was unable to fight back. Whatever had happened in that other dimension, it had striped her of all her strength and magic. She was no match against his brute superior strength. Now was his chance to dispatch her from his family's life forever, to get revenge on the suffering he'd endured these long months. He would finish this!

Straddling the petite female, choking her, feeling her slender fingers pulling desperately at his thick digits, Leonardo felt the rush of victory. He pressed down, his weight pinning her hips to the floor. Her hands slid along his bandaged arm up to his biceps where her fingers kneaded his bunched muscles. He felt her roll her hips upwards. Her tail curling up to brush along his own. His body registered the sensual movement and a fierce lustful pang hit him.

Suddenly he was overwhelmed with the sensation of their position; of her laying beneath him, helpless, open and vulnerable. And how his body was responding to discovering a female of his kind in that position beneath him. Her honeyed scent hit him and made his mind reel. Their eyes met, hers partially closed, staring at him from beneath heavy lashes, a knowing look in her eyes; a look that cut through his defenses. It was heated and full of defiance and desire.

A dark and powerful emotion swept through him; making him gasp. He made a soft, choked sound in the back of his throat; a rumbling churr that he immediately cut off in shame as his eyes widened. What the hell was he doing? A tremor went through him and he released his grip suddenly and reared back as if stung; face flushing a deep red; breath coming in shallow panting. Blinking down at her, into her bright eyes, filled with vulnerability and heat, his throat worked and his body trembled with a rush of mixed emotions. The sounds of the room came thundering back to him as his heart leapt and stumbled. He looked around as if not sure where he was. What was happening to him?

Raph dashed past Mikey, still on the floor yelling for Leo to stop, and tackled Leonardo. His bulky weight forced Leonardo off the tiny female and to the side. Together they rolled in a mangled heap; coming up with Raphael on top of Leonardo. He pressed his brother's shoulders back once then again as he fought valiantly to throw Raphael off him. His face was flushed and his eyes were glassy and bright. Raph pulled back his fist, threatening to punch him in the face if he tried again.

"Don't! Don't make me hit you, Leo!"

"Raph!" Leo barked, voice hoarse and desperate as he regained some of his earlier fire and the mixed emotional storm he was just going through eased back. "Get off me! I have to . . . to . . . _kill her_!"

"No way, Chief!"

They struggled and wrestled as Michelangelo raced over and helped Inanna to sit up. She was coughing as she wrapped her slim arms around his neck, her head tilted to the side, watching Leonardo struggle with Raphael. A smirk danced across her mouth. "M-Michelangelo," she coughed lightly and pressed her lips to his cheek.

"I've got you," he murmured, looking with round eyes around at the family that all seemed to have gone crazy. "What are you doing? Are you crazy?!" he yelled at Leonardo who was still fighting Raph to get free.

Donatello was at his side then. He cast a wide-eyed glance at Raphael who was gripping Leonardo's wrists and swearing loudly. He twisted around, his wrapped arm held close to his chest behind one knee, his other hand lightly braced against Michelangelo's shoulder. Quietly, he asked, "Mikey, who the heck is this?"

"Sh-She needed my help, okay? Is that so wrong!?" He said in a hurt voice, directed at Leonardo.

Donatello blinked at him, saying nothing, watching his face carefully. Inanna nuzzled her face deeper into the side of his neck. Her breath ghosted across his collar bone making him shiver. The memory of her on top of him rushed into his mind; the intense pleasure that soared through him when he opened his eyes to find his body inside her. It was the most incredible thing he'd ever felt. His cheeks blushed furiously. His eyes hit the floor. He didn't know why, but he felt embarrassed and slightly ashamed; remembering that moment with his family standing around him, staring at him.

He brushed his discomfort aside. He clung to her and straightened up on his knees. He couldn't let anything happen to her. He wouldn't. She didn't do anything that would justify his brother's violent reaction. Leonardo was being crazy. It was a case of mistaken identity. She had taken him into that strange place, but she hadn't hurt him. In fact, she made him feel things that he never dreamed were even possible. He hardly knew her, but . . . He wrapped his arms around her diamond-shaped plated shell and stood up. Inanna immediately wrapped her legs around his middle, clinging to him like a child. A bolt of mixed feelings, powerful and head-spinning, struck him as she did. Donatello blinked at his brother's flushed face and the behavior of this apparently female mutant turtle.

"I won't let anyone hurt her!" Mikey announced to the room in general. "She's defenseless!"

"Okay, easy, little brother," Donnie said from the floor, lifting his hand in a placating gesture. He rose up on his knees. "I just need to ask you a few questions. Like . . . where did she come from? Why does Leonardo think she's the Mistress?"

_"Enough!"_ Splinter roared.

Everyone in the room jumped. April covered her mouth with her hands and Casey ran a hand through his hair. Raphael rolled off of Leonardo who was propped up on one elbow, panting and shaking now more from exertion than fury. His face was still flushed. The bandages around his left arm were crimson and dripping from where he reopened some of the long gash he inflicted on himself. Splinter strode over to Michelangelo who shifted his body in a protective stance, shielding Inanna from Splinter.

"Put her down!"

Mikey shook his head, his chin trembling but set in a defiant pout.

"Leonardo!"

The eldest sat up, his head swaying slightly. "H-Hai, Sensei," he said between panting, his voice weak.

"Destroy that demon!"

The mixed emotions that flashed over Leonardo's face moved so quickly no one noticed before he managed to pull his expression into a blank neutral look. Leonardo stared across the room to where Mikey was holding Inanna in his arms. A feeling of jealousy washed through him and he dropped his eyes to the floor in shocked shame. Was he losing his mind? That female was the Mistress. The cause of all their misery for the past year. She alone was responsible for his father's madness and his innocence being stolen. He swallowed dryly and collected himself.

He was ready to exact revenge before, but now he wasn't so certain he'd be strong enough to kill a defenseless female of their own kind. He had to be strong for his father. He could not let him down. If he didn't do as Sensei ordered, he'd be letting them all down; _again_. No, he couldn't fail them again. Not again. If it meant killing the girl, he had to find the strength to do the vile task. He struggled to his knees; stopping a moment with his head hanging low. His entire body swayed to one side.

Raphael braced an arm across the front of his chest, his other hand rested lightly on Leonardo's shell. "Easy bro, hang on a minute. You're in no shape to stand up, let alone fight." To Master Splinter he said, "Master, there's no reason to attack this . . . girl right now. Mikey's right. I don't think we have to worry about her hurting any of us, now. I saw that demon creature nearly kill her." He licked his dry lips and cast a nervous glance around the room. Everyone was staring at him.

"I will not listen to children who know nothing," Splinter snapped and Raphael ducked his head and pressed his mouth closed. "Leonardo, I said to destroy that demon!"

Michelangelo's face turned a sick shade of gray. Inanna trembled in his arms. "No," he breathed and his disbelieving gaze fell on Donatello, silently pleading for a voice of reason.

Donatello frowned. His head shot from Mikey to his father to Leonardo and back to Splinter. "What?! Now, wait a minute, Sensei . . . let's all just . . . calm down. I don't think that this girl is a threat to any of us. Sh-She couldn't even defend herself when Leo attacked her a second ago. I don't see why we have to do anything drastic right now . . . Let's get some answers before we decide on what to do."

Splinter shook his head, dismissing Donatello's reasoning. "This _Akuma_ . . . is not what she seems." Splinter moved to stand next to Donatello who slowly climbed to his feet. Michelangelo moved a step back. "She takes on many guises," he huffed a bitter laugh, "but do not be fooled my sons. She is evil incarnate and must be culled."

"No!" Mikey looked around desperately at his family. "You can't listen to him! H-He's sick, remember? H-He thinks we're all demons!"

April stared at Casey who only shook his head and shrugged, at a loss, "Don't look at me, I just got here. Raph told me his family was nuts, but I had no idea . . ."

Raphael glanced up at Master Splinter from where he knelt holding Leonardo up who was still trying to catch his breath and climb to stand. Bent on following his master's order. Donatello blinked from Master Splinter to Mikey.

He explained, "Well. He was, Mikey. That is . . . he's well now."

Michelangelo's mouth opened and closed. "S-So . . . You're saying Leo should _kill_ her?" he asked in shrill disbelief. "Since when do we attack d-defenseless girls!? Maybe all you guys have gone crazy!"

Mikey shifted his feet and suddenly burst into a sprint. He wove between Splinter and his stunned brothers. April and Casey jumped out of his way as he rushed to his room. He dove inside and slammed the door shut. Gently, he placed Inanna down on his bed. She wouldn't let go of his neck until he pried her arms from him.

"Don't let them kill me!" she said, her face a mask of terror. She rubbed her sore throat from Leonardo's rough handling. "You must convince them that I am no threat! I have no power . . . I-I am defenseless, Michelangelo. Just as you said. I truly am." Her wide eyes, glassy and panicked, bounced between his. She was the picture of frightened innocence and Mikey found he wanted to do nothing for the rest of his life but keep her safe.

Michelangelo reached out and brushed a fat tear from her cheek. "H-Hey, chill. It's gonna be okay. I won't let nothing happen to you, Inanna. I swear." He stroked the side of her face and yanked a blanket free from the side of the bed and the wall and wrapped it around her shaking shoulders. He leveled a look straight into her orange eyes as he gently held the sides of her face between his hands. "I swear. Okay?"

She nodded, looking unconvinced.

He backed up, giving her one last reassuring smile and turned; face now nothing but serious. He cast around for something to block his door with. He grabbed a chair from his desk and wedged it securely under the handle of his bedroom door. Then he twisted and grabbed a pair of spare nun-chucks from a shelf. He stood in front of his braced door, ready to defend the helpless girl behind him. Even if it meant fighting each of his brothers . . . even if it meant taking on Splinter. He swallowed dryly. He would defend her no matter what it took.

Inanna watched him and lowered her gaze to the cottony blanket wrapped around her shoulders. A soft smile played along the edges of her lips as she eased back into the cozy bed beneath her. It was not as luxurious as some of the beds she'd laid in over the years, but in her new-found state, it would do nicely. As she closed her eyes, her mind wandered back to Leonardo on top of her and the warmth that spread through her as she remembered how his eyes went from raging fury to sudden need and stormy desire. She stroked the front of her throat and made the softest rumbling purr.

* * *

Splinter stood in stunned rage as Michelangelo slammed his door closed. Everyone in the room stood frozen and waited for him to react. Slowly, his shoulders slumped and he dropped his head down with a sigh.

"What is happening?"

Donatello rubbed his forehead roughly. He strode over to the couch and fell into the cushions. April crossed the room and sat next to him. He looked up and immediately straightened in his seat and shifted closer to the armrest; away from her. She shot him a curious glance and he swept his eyes away from her, looking more than a little flustered and uneasy. Casey came to stand next to her. He rested one leg on the armrest.

Raphael helped Leonardo stand up and he eased him down into the chair next to the couch.

"Raphael, what happened to Michelangelo in that dimension? How did he come by the Mistress in this form?"

Raph rubbed the back of his head and explained that he'd found Mikey with the Mistress. He pointedly left out the part that it looked as though they were having sex. He still couldn't accept that that was actually what he'd seen, so to be safe, since he wasn't even sure, he left that detail out. He also failed to mention how he'd awakened in the motel where he'd last seen Deborah and how he had known the Mistress was trying to play with his mind and distract him. How he'd known that no woman would ever want him. Not like that. Especially after his pathetic attempt of throwing himself at the woman of his dreams, only to be rejected. No surprise there, he knew she found him repulsive and hideous, as he always knew she did, deep down inside. He merely had proof of it now from her outright rejection of his body and his love.

Instead, he told them of how he was overcome with an overpowering sense of anger. How it seemed to draw the shadowy demon that attacked the Mistress and how they were fleeing the scene when Mikey decided to rescue her. He wasn't sure how she became a mutant turtle, all he knew was that he was sure she was a goner by the time Mikey rescued her from beneath the other, more powerful, demon.

Donatello and the rest of the family listened intently. Leonardo stared at the floor in the center of their group, unable to look directly at anyone. Everyone assumed his arm was hurting him and he was keeping himself stoic and quiet as he usually did. No one guessed at the conflicting feelings he was struggling internally with.

Splinter shook his head and glanced at Michelangelo's room. "It is not in his nature to bring harm to one who seems so innocent and helpless." He blinked and looked down. "How much of a danger she is to us seems to be in question. If that shadow demon nearly destroyed her, then I might assume that her power is greatly diminished or perhaps entirely gone." He looked at Donatello with the question written in his eyes.

"I would think that would be the case, Master Splinter. If she had power, like before, I think she would've used it on us by now. I think she would have at least defended herself against Leonardo's attack. I-I think she's either weakened or she has no power left."

Splinter nodded at his son's assessment. "In which case . . ." he paused and looked around his small family. They looked back at him, expressions full of different emotions. He noted Leonardo continued to stare at the ground. Splinter nodded to himself. "This poses a difficult question." He fell silent and the room waited with breathless silence for him to go on. After another moment passed, he slowly turned to face his room. "I must take some time and meditate on the proper course of action to take." He took in a slow steady breath. "I know that I have been a burden to you these past months –"

The protests of his sons rang out but he held up one hand to quiet them.

"It is good to have a clear mind once more. However. It is unfortunate that I must make such a heavy decision so soon after regaining my senses." He ran a hand over his face. He sighed and it sounded weary. "Do not think that I am ignorant to the fact of what her form is . . . or what it may mean to you, my sons." At that, Leonardo's face snapped up, his full attention on his father. "I must consider your futures carefully. I need time. Let Michelangelo know that she is in no danger as of now, but I wish for her to be confined in the infirmary for the time being." He looked over his shoulder to Donatello. "You will restrain her, Donatello."

He swallowed audibly, clearly uncomfortable with the task handed to him. "H-Hai, Sensei." He got up and as he passed Splinter, his father reached out and patted him on the arm.

"We will bring no harm to her. We will feed her and keep her safe from the outside world. For her discovery could lead to our own lives being placed in a dangerous situation. So. For now. Things will remain . . . as they are. When I have reached my decision, we will meet as a family to discuss what conclusion I have come to."

With a confirming nod, Donatello moved towards Michelangelo's room. Master Splinter turned to Leonardo who dropped his gaze away once again to the floor. His eyes took on a distant look. Shuttered. Splinter considered his eldest son. He thought of the things Leonardo had confessed to him in his room hours ago. How he believed he was the source of the Mistress' focus. And it seemed, for the most part, true. It was this reason that led Splinter to allow Leonardo to take it upon himself to rid the family of this cursed demon. He thought ending his life would sever the link and with much sadness and a heavy heart, Splinter had allowed Leonardo the opportunity to rise to his destiny with respect for his son's honor and his duty to the family as eldest son and leader of their clan. It was the least he could do to prove his love and deepest respect for his son's position. Especially after the memory of the terrible fight they had engaged in. Leonardo was doing what was honorable and good for his family. Splinter deeply admired his son's devotion and sacrifice - there was no greater gift his son could have offered to give to those he loved.

But now he did not need to act with such drastic measures. And Splinter was sincerely and completely relieved and overjoyed that he did not have to lose a son to rid them of the demon. But what troubled him now was the fact that Leonardo had also confessed to being driven with a twisted, desperate need for the Mistress' specific . . . attentions. He had much to consider when deciding their next action with regards to her current seemingly helpless state. He had to consider the implications that remained plain should she be given refuge with them. And the problems that may naturally arise given the fact that she was one and they were four. He made a decision that he hoped would avoid some trouble in the near future.

"I think you should keep your distance from her, Leonardo." His son said nothing in return, only continued to stare at the floor. "Leonardo. Do you understand?" Splinter called more forcibly. "_Leonardo_?"

Startled, he looked up and found everyone staring at him. He read the pity in their eyes, the worry and the knowing. And that was the worst part. They knew what she'd done to him. And his father knew . . . more. His father's command registered and he swallowed nervously. His stomach rolled and a lump of shame formed in his throat. Why did he want him to keep his distance from their captive? Just what exactly was he worried about? Did his father not trust him? After what he'd confessed . . . His face burned. Did his father think . . . less of him? Of his self-control? He thought he could prove he was still worth something good by offering to end his life to rid them of the Mistress. But now . . . his act seemed necessary. Even melodramatic and silly. Pathetic. Is that what his father thought of him now? Doubt and fear warred inside of him. Regret and humiliation rose up and tainted the back of his throat with a sour taste. Suddenly it was hard to breathe. He felt trapped. Caged. The pressure of their anticipation of his response was crushing him. He needed to answer to make them stop staring at him.

Blinking his burning eyes rapidly he nodded, and said quietly, vowing to the floor, "I will. I-I mean . . . I-I won't go near her."

* * *

Donatello tapped at Michelangelo's door, making the youngest jump and give a soft cry of surprise. He held out his nun-chucks as the door knob twisted.

"Stay back!"

Donatello's muffled voice came through the door, calm and a little annoyed. "Mikey. Open the door. No one's going to hurt the girl."

"I don't believe you!" Mikey shouted. He shot a nervous glance at Inanna who was curled up on his bed with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, looking small and sweet and scared. "I-I won't let anything happen to Inanna!"

Don's aggravated sigh reached him. "Mikey. No matter what you think, she's still a stranger to us and we have to be careful. Family first, remember?"

Mikey's arms dropped a little.

"If I say no one's gonna hurt her, you have to trust me. I have never lied to you. Have I?"

"You said that shot wouldn't hurt!" Mikey snapped back in a betrayed voice.

"I did say it would pinch." There was a pause then, "Will you just open the door already. You know if we wanted to, Raph could break it down in a matter of seconds. So, come on and listen to reason."

Mikey dropped his arms. He hesitated another moment before finally giving in. "Okay. But if you or anyone else makes one move towards Inanna, you're gonna be sorry." He pulled the chair away and opened the door, glancing nervously over Donatello's shoulder to see if he was alone. He stepped back and looked sheepishly at his brother. "Where's Master Splinter? Is . . . Is he mad at me?"

Donatello shook his head. He reached out and placed a hand on his younger brother's shoulder. "Nah. He understands you were trying to do the right thing." Don's gaze moved over Mikey's shoulder to the girl on his bed. "Uh, we have to keep her in the infirmary, though."

"Like a sick person?"

"Uh, more like a guest?" Don said and squinted one eye. "Well, more like a prisoner." Mikey's face dropped into a frown. He opened his mouth to protest but Donatello placed his hands up in a placating gesture. "Just until we decide what to do. No harm will come to her. We'll feed her and keep her safe and in the meantime, we can decide if she means us harm, okay?"

Mikey glanced at Inanna who was watching the exchange with a blank expression. "I guess. But keep Leo away from her," he said firmly.

"No problem." Don turned to the girl. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh . . ."

"My name is Inanna. And I understand that you only mean to keep your family safe. I assure you that I am no threat."

She stood up and the blanket fell away. Donatello found his eyes roving over the strangely alluring spectacle of a female mutant turtle. He swallowed nervously. She was certainly attractive. With her rounded plastron in a light gold tone, her slender arms and legs, soft green skin and the golden pattern running up the right side of her leg, arm, neck and face, she was definitely easy on his mutant eyes. But she was missing something that he couldn't place his finger on. April's face, slowly turning to look at him popped into his mind and his heart stumbled. The memory of the sweet feel of her lips pressed to his, the silken strands of her auburn hair running through his fingers. He jumped as Inanna was suddenly next to him. She wove her arm through his and he jumped at the contact. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mikey frown. With a rough sound, he cleared his throat.

"Uh, then . . . this way."

. . .

Years ago, they had found a large steel crate that he and his brothers had taken apart and reassembled in the lair as a make-shift holding cell. Donatello had reasoned at the time that should the need ever come up to restrain one of them and simple belts would not do, or should they have the need to hold a captured Foot soldier, a holding cell of some sort would be needed. He never dreamt that he'd be leading a female mutant turtle into the cell. He closed the door and bolted the lock. Inanna turned in a circle and examined the small enclosure. She had just enough head space to stand without stooping. Donatello had dragged a narrow cot into the cell and Mikey had brought his extra pillow and his blankets and had handed them to her.

"Um, if you need to use the bathroom, just, um, ring that bell," Donnie pointed to a small bicycle bell that he'd placed near the cot on the floor. "If I'm not in here, uh, I'm right next door in my lab. So, I can let you out to, um, go."

"I'm sorry about this, Inanna," Mikey said, his voice full of remorse. Inanna merely blinked serenely at him and slowly laid down on the cot. She braced her bent arm beneath her head and closed her eyes.

"Maybe you should make us something to eat, Mikey," Donatello offered. "I bet she's hungry."

"Yeah, good idea," he said brightening instantly and ran off to the kitchen.

Donatello sat heavily in his rolling chair and scooted it over to the computer. He switched it on and started scrolling through his favorite science sites to try and distract his mind from the troubling situation and chaos of earlier. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw someone come into the room.

"Mikey, go make us something to eat, I said," he snapped, more harshly than he meant to, then looked up. He jumped as he saw it was April. His heart started pounding hard and all the air in the room seemed to have gone out through the door behind her. "Wh-What . . . What are you . . . do you want?" he stumbled.

April glanced at the cage across the room and noted the girl seemed to be asleep. "I was just curious."

She shrugged and moved closer to the desk. Donatello instantly used his toes to scoot the chair away. He looked everywhere except at her. The chair bumped the desk and he jumped as April continued to come closer. He moved to stand up when she placed her hand on his shoulder. A soft sound of distress came out of Donatello's mouth and he snapped his lips shut; ashamed. His face burned a deep crimson as he sat back down. His watery legs wouldn't support him in his escape attempt anyway. The pulse in his throat hammered in an uncomfortable, insistent way and his palms moistened. He wanted to push her hand off him but found he had no strength to lift his hand. He was pinned by the lightest touch of her hand on his bare shoulder. The contact was searing through his flesh, burning through his muscle, blackening his bone.

"I also wanted to talk to you, Donnie."

He cringed. The nickname sounded strange to his ears. It sounded ugly coming from her mouth now. Absurd. He wanted to ask how she had the nerve to come into his infirmary after what she'd done to him. When he trusted her and she only used that trust to lash out and hurt him in the most humiliating and disturbing way. He wanted to shout at her to get out of his sight. He wanted to yell at her and demand that she go away and never come back. He wanted to grab her and shake her and demand an apology or an explanation or both.

Instead he asked in an offhand voice that wavered a little around the edges, "About what?" Internally, he cursed himself a coward.

She removed her hand and leaned her backside against the desk. She was still very close but Donatello was relieved that she'd removed her hand. His galloping heart slowed a bit and he took in an uneven breath. He pulled enough strength together to inch his eyes up to meet her gaze.

"I just wanted to apologize to you again. For not telling you what I knew." She looked at him, her face full of remorse. "I see now that there were ways I could've told you without betraying Leonardo's wishes. But I hope you can see that it was never malicious."

He dropped his eyes away, "Of course not. You . . . you wouldn't be m-malicious." His voice caught on the word and suddenly his eyes were burning and his mouth was full of cotton. He jumped as he felt her hand suddenly on the sides of his face, gently raising it up. His hand shot up and he grabbed her wrist, but he froze there. The tears were blinding him. That he felt fear of her disturbed him deeply; knowing again that they would never recover from this incident. That it was over between them. So why was she doing this to him? Before he could stop himself, he heard his voice speaking, softly in a hurt whisper "Why, April? Why did you _hurt_ _me_?" Two large tears spilled over his cheeks, wetting her hands.

Her face crushed into a confused frown. She blinked as understanding dawned. She steeled herself to face what must be said. She moistened her bottom lip and said, "I thought I knew what I wanted. I really tried to make myself feel it . . . but I . . . I was wrong. I never meant to hurt you."

"B-But you were so . . . cruel to me. You hurt me, April. I . . . I told you and you . . . didn't even _care_." April turned her head slightly in confusion. Her confused eyes bounced between his. "You . . . You knew I never . . . I had never . . ." he was panting, gasping for air in between his words, "Never been with a . . . What did I ever do to deserve –" his throat caught cutting off any further words and shame flooded him.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, sounding genuinely confused.

He clenched his eyes closed tightly. He couldn't do this. Asking her like this was admitting to the terrible truth that it wasn't a nightmare. That it really happened. It brought back the horrible memory of her wicked smile and the vindictive glee on her face as he pleaded for her to stop. Not only that, but she was going to stand here before him and act like she didn't know what he was talking about?

"Donnie, I-I'm not sure what you mean. What did I –"

He jerked his face out of her hands then, lurched back and fell out of his chair. April dropped down and tried to pull him into an embrace. "N-No! Don't touch me!" he cried out and balled himself up.

He was acting like she had hurt him and not just emotionally. Thoroughly baffled, she said in a slightly shaky voice, "Talk to me, Donnie. I have no idea what you're talking about." She wondered if he could possibly be referring to when she kicked him out the window.

"J-Just leave me alone!"

Hesitating another second, April finally pulled back. She sat on her heels. Her gaze fell on the steel cage and the mutant turtle watching her with large orange eyes. The look on her face was intense and yet unreadable. It was as if the girl could see into her thoughts and read her confusion and regret. She knew breaking it off with Donatello would be rough. She just didn't expect quite this reaction. Uncomfortable with the mutant girl watching her so intently and deciding that Donnie was in no shape to continue talking in a rational manner, April stood up and turned then quickly left the room.

After a few moments, Inanna spoke, "It's alright. She's gone now."

Donatello wiped at his burning face. He straightened up with a humiliated look on his face. "Y-You're awake."

"What did she do to you?"

"I . . . don't want to talk about it."

"So it did not last between you two?"

Donatello's face snapped up. He sniffled and frowned.

"I remember your intense desire for her. Was it not returned?"

"Not exactly," he mumbled.

"_I_ would not reject you."

The statement sent a shiver up his spine. There was something disturbingly familiar about the intonation. He remembered April right before she left him strapped to the chair in his lab. Saying she would never reject him again. And now this . . . female in the guise of one of them. When she was in her full power, last year, after she had read his hidden thoughts and exposed his deepest secret desires to April . . . She had said the same thing to him then. Tempting him to be hers. When she had been coming to collect Leonardo.

He climbed to stand on rubbery legs. He took in a steadying breath. Then another. Still slightly trembling, he replied in a mostly even voice, "Thank you, but I am not interested. Not now. Not ever."

He glared at her with flat, empty eyes. Eyes devoid of warmth. There was no hatred or disgust, no passion or lust. There was only the blank look of someone who had lost everything precious to them. Without another word, he stormed out of the room.

Inanna watched him go and wondered how he'd react once he learned it was her in his presumed lover's guise the other night. She had only meant to toy with him. She had meant to play and feed off his aching need. That his incredible desire for the girl had gone completely unanswered all this time was unbelievable. She had glimpsed his raw need and had simply accepted it without pondering the reason behind the force of it. She had pulled from his mind his secret yearning; knew that he had still been innocent; had been waiting for permission, silly boy, from the girl and had fed off that powerful emotion.

But the look he had given her before he exited the room was troublesome. Despite having no power to draw Eblis to her, feeling certain that he had moved on to hunt and feed off the other beings in her dimension like her, despair was something still to be feared. Despair could still extinguish her light.

For the second time that day, a sliver of fear traced its icy finger along the back of her neck.

* * *

**A/N: eeee! That girl is trooooouble! Mikey trusts Donnie so much. And poor Don, once you go human... XD **I really want to capture the reaction of the guys coming face to face with a female of their kind but still the situation is very complicated due to the identity of this female. It's not like she's some innocent female mutant turtle they stumbled upon. It's much more . . . complicated.


	17. Devil in the Flesh

**Chapter 17 - Devil in the Flesh**

* * *

The room was sparsely decorated. The walls around the rectangular table had wooden square divides spaced with a translucent paper. Small cracked-glass votive holders held in black iron clasps cupped white candles. All were lit and the tiny flickering flames gave the room an ambiance of living sensuality. The delicately placed and arranged centerpiece of the table featured large white blooms that Deborah could not identify and blood red spheres of varying shape, interspersed with dark green serrated foliage. The rich meal provided for her and the head of the Foot clan lay spread over the table on black plates; carefully arranged down to the smallest detail, the sauces glistened and gleamed in the candlelight. The smell was exotic and appetizing, but Deborah found herself without the urge to eat nor the strength to lift the fork resting next to her plate.

Dressed in a high-collared oriental style dress, she had added a gauzy scarf to held hide the bandage at her throat. With any luck, nothing would seem out of place or unusual in her added accessory. She'd been led into the private dining quarters fifteen minutes ago. She'd been sitting at the table as the silent waiters moved around her like wraiths, setting down plate after plate of the delicacies. Her heart was a staccato beat inside her swimming head. Every second that passed without his appearance sent her further into a wild panic that continued to urge her in a repeating loop: _Run! Run, now! Run! Run, now! _When she ignored that desperate drumbeat of fear, her mind focused on the other aspect of the situation and her mind had a list that it repeated as well. Traitor. Traitor to her brother. Traitor to herself. Coward. Useless bitch. Weak. Weak. _Weak_! The bile rose and she got up on unsteady legs.

She pushed away at the table and turned just as Oroku Saki made his appearance for dinner. He strode without making a sound, only the softest whisper of his shoes upon the embroidered rug. His movements were graceful and his body seemed lithe and dangerous beneath the clothes, as if the coiled muscles hidden beneath were a predatory creature all their own. Dressed in a slim fitting dark suit, in a style that boasted a tall collar in shimmering charcoal silk; hair trimmed, with a few dark strands brushing the front of his forehead; face bare; exposing the burn scars that ravaged the side. Just above the scarred tissue his dark hair was a shock of white; giving him an appearance of some carefully painted figure straight from a sexy manga volume.

Clearing his throat, he turned his head slightly as if to hide the scarring. But instead of fearing the scars, instead of finding them grotesque, Deborah found the lines and ridges intriguing; highlighting the depths of his intense eyes. She did not hate what was different. She was not cut of that general cloth that so many others seemed to be. She had seen what was truly ugly in this world. And appearances had nothing to do with that deceitful and sly evil - that raw, vulgar, repulsive sore that was the dark side of human nature. And just as she was drawn to Raphael's strange features; finding them more than simply interesting but actually _alluring_, she was drawn to the scars on Oroku Saki's face. She found herself wanting to trace her fingers along that vulnerable marking that took the god-like figure and reduced him to a mere mortal man before her.

They stood, staring at each other, frozen in place. Both with a look of slight shock on their expressions.

"I-I . . ." she started and fumbled with the napkin between her fingers. Her face was flushed and she pushed away her traitorous thoughts and focused on her anger. She was bent on killing this man, not fucking him, she reminded herself. She felt the back of her neck break out in a cold sweat.

"Forgive my tardiness, Ms. Meyer." His voice was softly accented and surprisingly gentle; unlike the commanding tone and harsh voice he used when she had heard him speak to the masses of Foot soldiers in the auditorium or when out in the battle field. It was a voice of sensual ease. Laced with the promise of pleasures; rich and decadent. Deborah felt her pulse quicken just at the sound of it. "Please, I would like to speak to you over dinner."

Deborah snapped her mouth shut and ducked her head. The overwhelming feeling of being in a place where she did not belong made her knees weak and she all but fell back into the chair behind her. She couldn't do this. She couldn't sit here and eat when her brother, Tyler, lay rotting in the soil. Saki stepped around the table but then hesitated as she made a soft noise in the back of her throat.

Breathless, she spoke, unable to contain the words from her mouth, as they rushed and tumbled over her trembling lips, "You killed my brother."

"I'm sorry?" he asked.

The word choice would have been funny had she not been seething in rage and drowning in churning guilt. He had been sending her roses, placing her in the most luxurious of suites at the Foot headquarters, sending her gifts of fine clothes and even a necklace of delicate drop pearls. This was the first time that she was actually alone with him. She didn't deserve gifts. She didn't deserve luxury. She had been a whore and worse over the years. She was filth. But she had done it all for her brother. Whatever it took, she kept him safe. No matter what was asked of her. No matter what role she had to play. And she had played many. Now, she didn't know who she was supposed to be anymore. Part of her wanted nothing but to escape into the peace that the Shredder's courting had brought to her. The other part wanted to die.

She grasped at that anger and held onto it for dear life. It was an emotion that was easy. Simple. It guided her in the darkness where she was lost. It was all she had left now that she had hurt the other one with her rejection. So she clung to it. Desperately.

Her voice was thick with emotion, "Last year. You killed him. At the club. Before it collapsed."

He stared at the wall across the room before dropping his head low. The candles flickered and sputtered. Shadows crawled along the wall like spiders. And while Deborah's heart pounded and her guts coiled and rolled, her eyes went to the steak knife next to her plate.

She could try. He would kill her no doubt, but she would die knowing she had tried. That vengeance for her brother was at least _attempted_. And didn't part of her wish for it? For death to take her away from the confusion and pain? Where she'd finally have peace. But her arm would not raise and her numb fingers remained laying heavily in her lap, useless. Her words had sentenced her to die and she was too helpless with cowardice and terror to even defend her empty waste of a life.

Saki turned.

Deborah braced herself for death and prayed it was quick. He took a step closer to her, towering over her from where she sat, eyeing him warily, but otherwise frozen in place. Then to her astonishment, he dropped to one knee and Deborah couldn't withhold a gasp.

"Yes," he said and his dark eyes were earnest. "After you had come to my aid in our battle with the Purple Dragons . . . when I was injured. You appeared to me . . ." his gaze became intense; almost frightening. ". . . like an angel out from the snowstorm's depths. I thought I would know death that night." He looked away and a ghost of a smile crossed his face. "I am not the young fool that I once was, the language of romance has long been forgotten by my tongue. But I understand regret." His eyes snapped back to hers and they flashed. "I understand regret better than most. When I had recovered, I read through your files. I learned of you and your relation to the young man killed that day, Tyler."

She flinched at the sound of her deceased brother's name spoken on the lips of man who murdered him. The room did a slow spin as she blinked and a frown puckered her brows. She felt dizzy and sick. The candles burned on and Saki's voice, the cadence sensual and slick, like a shark in shallow water, slid over her, engulfing her.

Saki did not break his intense stare as he went on, "Your brother was an unfortunate casualty in a battle against foes that have long been a source of . . . frustration. I did kill Tyler. For it is my way to learn all the names of those I slaughter, accidental or not. I do not forget those whose blood is on my hands."

Deborah blinked and felt the bile rise up in the back of her throat. She found that suddenly she could move and she pushed the chair back. She felt her wrist gripped in a grasp that was firm but caused no pain. His hand was warm. More than that, it was hot against her cool skin. Burning like a demon's flesh.

"I cannot bring your sibling back to you, nor would I insult you in asking for forgiveness for such an unforgiveable act . . . but I _will_ ask of you . . . only that you allow me to prove to you that there is more to me than a simple killer."

Deborah was shaking her head, but no words came from her lips. She had to get away from this. He was the devil himself; that she was sure. The searing temperature of his skin against hers was just further proof. For she could not be attracted to this monster. She could not want this beast that murdered her brother and had the gall to admit to the deed. And yet, she was being tempted by his soft spoken voice, lulled by his offering of a life without fear, without struggle, without hunger. But he could not stop the pain that was inside of her. No. Not him.

Raphael's face suddenly loomed inside her mind and with a fierce jolt of homesickness she ached for him. She wanted to run to him now and bury herself in his protective embrace; lose herself in those eyes; those eyes that spoke of home to her. Her heart screamed for him to come to her now, impossible, but still, her heart beat was a frantic silent keening; calling out to him; save me. Save me, Raphael.

"I wish for time," he went on as he released her wrist and stood up. "Allow me to provide you with a life that was so cruelly withheld from you due to circumstances beyond your control. Grant me only that. Nothing more. I will not disturb you or even talk to you again, if that is your wish."

Deborah stood and found herself shaking. Quaking where she stood, she managed to speak and her voice was strained and wavering, "I . . . I have to go." With that she turned and ran from the room, knocking into a servant as she bumped into him.

The servant righted himself and looked to his master. "Uh, Master, should I go after her?"

Saki stared at the lavish dinner untouched. He looked up and shook his head. "Leave it."

He moved past the servant and headed towards his quarters. When the Mistress had left him, he felt his world had once again come to a savage halt. She would come to him as Tang Shen. She would heal his wounds both physical and mental. Her presence and her magical abilities were what kept him balanced and for a while, he thought he had something of what others termed happiness. She had told him to move on from his guilt. From his obsession with revenge. To move on from his departed love from so long ago. She had said that those memories were what chained him to failure.

Immersed in a haze of despair and rage, he had gone and thrown himself into the fray. The altercation between the Foot and the Purple Dragons grew into an all-out battle that snowy evening and the timing couldn't have been better. He was prowling Death that night, unleashing his lonely fury on all that stood in his way. Little did he know that he was merely death's prey. And then as the bullet struck him and his strength gave out, when he looked up he was met with the blue-gray gaze of an avenging angel. Her blonde hair wiped around her head. Her face was a mask of grim retribution. Her eyes held the flat gaze of death, and in them, he saw his own reflection. So, he braced himself for the moment he had yearned for ever since Tang Shen's demise. An end. An end to the pain and fruitless pursuit of enduring a life that had nothing of worth to offer him.

But then, her eyes changed and he did not see pity. But something else. An understanding. They were the same. Their suffering, their emptiness. They were a mirror of each other. And he knew that if it took him the rest of his days, he would let go of Tang Shen and make this woman his. There would be no rival in this. No Hamato Yoshi to compete with. For he had everything to give to her.

He was no longer the young, penniless fisherwoman's son; fatherless and half-bred; with nothing to offer the girl he had so desperately loved. He was Oroku Saki. He was the Shredder. Whatever Deborah Meyer wanted he would grant. He would not relent in giving her the life that most could only dream of living. He would drown her in luxury and excess. Until she finally granted to him what he sought: her love. For in that love he would be set free. He would finally be able to release himself from the burdens of his past. His vengeance would wither away and he would be free. He would have peace; the only thing left in the world that was not his.

Oroku Saki stared out the window into the darkening twilight. "Peace, at long last," he murmured to himself and closed his eyes.

* * *

Raphael paced the hallway near Donatello's lab mulling over the events of the past few days. It made his head spin keeping it all straight. Then on top of it, April had left that morning in an unexplained huff followed by Donatello, who had come storming out and hadn't come out of his room since then. Mikey had served Inanna breakfast, lunch and dinner; running in and out of the room getting her things like extra pillows and glasses of water like a loon. From the corner of his eye, he caught Leo, still sitting and brooding in the living room in front of the silent television. He crossed the room and sat next to him.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked.

Leo looked up and gave a half-hearted nod.

Raph fidgeted where he sat. "So, uh, the Mistress, huh? She's the one that, uh, um," he cleared his throat, "hurt you . . . last year."

Leo's face snapped up. A look of alarm was quickly replaced with a neutral mask. He looked away and crossed his arms, sitting back flush against the chair with deliberate care. Raphael watched his brother's cheeks redden as his lips pressed tightly together.

"Heh, right. Don't wanna talk about it, I know." He leaned on his knees with his elbows. "Leo," he started, "why didn't you tell us what happened, man?" He cocked his eye towards his brother who continued to stare at the floor with an intense concentration.

"It wasn't important," Leo finally said. "I mean, what had happened . . . to me," he quickly clarified. "She attacked us here and I thought I had defeated her. What happened to me be-before . . ." he shook his head. "My . . . trouble sleeping and my, uh, nightmares just seemed . . . like I was _weak_."

Guilt stabbed Raph as he remembered his cold remark about Leo being a baby and his brother's shocked and hurt expression at the comment. He rubbed his face, hard.

"Uh god, Leo. I didn't mean nothin' by that, you know that, right? I always mouth off when I'm pissed." He stared at Leo who wouldn't meet his eyes. "No one here thinks you're weak, Leo. Trust me," he added with a chuckle that was ineffective and weak.

"Then why does Master Splinter want me to keep my distance from her?" Leo asked and unfolded his arms, leaning forward in his seat.

Raph raised his brows. He looked towards his father's room then back at his brother. "Uhm, I dunno." He shrugged.

"He doesn't trust me."

Raph put up his hands. "Now wait a minute, bro. I don't think that's the reason. Maybe 'cuz you went ape shit on her, he just didn't want you killin' her if she's gonna stay with us."

"What? Why would he let her stay _here_?" Leo asked quickly and the conversation had switched gears so quickly Raph was starting to feel dizzy. "Why? After what she's done to m- . . . us. What she's done to us," he amended quickly and Raphael noticed but said nothing about the shift in Leonardo's sentence.

"Because she's a mutant turtle. Like us. But a female," came Donatello's calm voice from behind Raphael.

"No, she isn't," Leo shot back.

Raphael was thoroughly confused now. He huffed. "Sure looks like one to me. Got the shell on her back and everything."

Leo dropped his head and shaking it, laughed. The sound was off. Leonardo's laugh was light and easy going. This was strained and lacking humor. Raph exchanged a look with Donatello as Mikey walked into the room.

"She can shapeshift. I've been trying to tell you. That -" He stood up suddenly and pointed towards Donatello's lab and Mikey tensed. "That creature in there. Is not what she seems. She's the reason that Master Splinter was . . ." he struggled, "mad for nearly a year. She was coming to him as Tang Shen. Making him think he was still human, messing with his mind and turning him against us."

The brothers fell into a stunned silence.

"She wants to trick us. She's going to . . . to . . ." he struggled again and found the strength in his legs flee. He sat back down in a heavy heap.

What did she want? What had she wanted from the beginning? When she had used him on the roof, she had told him that she needed him to get home. That she had been exiled in a world lacking the magical means to open the portal home and his unique existence and innocence and desire . . . her voice bounced around in the recesses of his mind - _Desire, even in the most righteous of men, is __**powerful**__ magic. _He swallowed. She had told him that his sacrifice would be made pleasurable and she had delivered on that promise. When she had returned, she had come to take him to her world.

_Because she wanted __**you**__,_ a voice whispered in his mind. The voice that he was ashamed of. The voice that pushed him to excel; to train until exhaustion; to repeat his katas until he had them down with perfection; the voice that knew he would've been great if only he'd been born human instead of the freak he was doomed to be. A freak with everything to give to the world and receiving nothing in return. Nothing. No one. Until her.

"Going to what, Leo?" Mikey asked.

But her power was gone now. She was no longer a threat to any of them. And she was one of their kind. What did _that_ mean for them? It changed everything. It meant . . . a future - for one of them, at least._ But who? Me?_ He'd wanted her since she had taken him on that roof, to his deep shame, he was not the same since that moment. And he knew he wanted her still. He was not the same as he was before the incident on that roof top. He would never be that boy again. Not after what she had shown him. What she had done with him in his dreams. A tremor went through him.

Leonardo slowly closed his eyes. His head was pounding suddenly with a terrible migraine. His wounded arm throbbed and burned. He rested his forehead into the crook of his finger and thumb. He shook it from side to side, slowly. No. It was all wrong. She was a monster. Or she _was_ a monster. They were the monsters and she was like them. Confusion washed over him, drowning him.

Donatello suddenly straightened in his chair. "Wait a minute," he snapped. "D-Did you just say she's a . . . was a-a _shapeshifter_? That she could ch-change her outward appearance?"

Leonardo looked up, dropping his arm onto his thigh and nodded once. Don's face crushed into a deep frown. His eyes darted back and forth as if he were reading some invisible manuscript. He started pacing, swinging his bound arm with more and more agitation. He started to mutter to himself. He froze and stared at each of them in turn. A series of emotions raced over Donatello's face, ending with his eyes going flat with icy fury. Raphael tensed and then jumped up from where he sat as Donatello suddenly bolted across the room, heading for his lab.

_"Shit!"_

"What's his problem?" Mikey asked, but then felt the tension in the air and the fury and he dashed after Donatello, right behind Raphael.

Leonardo hesitated. His eyes darted to Master Splinter's room and then he, too, ran into Donatello's lab. 

Raphael nearly plowed into Donatello as he raced into the room. He was not expecting his brother to be standing stock still in the middle of the floor. Inanna rose up from where she lay. Her eyes flicked between the brothers. As they locked onto Donatello she hunched her shoulders and backed slowly into the corner.

Donatello's voice was hollow as he said, "It was you, wasn't it."

Raphael blinked and looked from the turtle female in the cage, huddled tightly now in one corner, to his brother who seemed to be standing so still he almost seemed like he was made of stone.

"What are you guys doing?" Mikey yelled and stopped short as he entered the lab. With an angry expression he looked at Raph who only shrugged and then scrambled around Donnie to stand between the cage and his brother. "What are you . . ."

Mikey stopped as his gaze took in his brother's expression. He'd seen Donnie angry before. And it wasn't pretty. With Raphael, you knew he was pissed when he was loud and storming around or when he'd grow sullen and withdrawn only shooting you a dirty look if you happened to speak to him during one of his moods. Leonardo would blow up but quickly catch himself. He was slow to burn and quick to regain his composure. But Donnie . . . Donnie scared Mikey when he was like this. And he'd only been this angry once maybe twice before. He didn't get loud and he didn't get sullen. He didn't blow up and calm down. Oh, he'd argue and snap but not when he was really angry. And Mikey knew . . . he was really very angry by how still he was; how flat his eyes looked.

Michelangelo licked his bottom lip. He cast his gaze over his shoulder from Inanna who appeared to be trembling in fear in one corner of the steel cage to his brother staring coldly at her with those empty eyes and blank expression.

"Everyone out," Don ordered and his voice was even and low. Dangerous.

* * *

**A/N: Just **a BIG thank you to all my wonderful readers who are leaving me encouragement and reviews. Gosh, they are so greatly appreciated it, I can't even tell you how much. I do need to let you know that I'm going for NaNoWriMo this month, so while I do still plan on updating, it may be a little longer in between chapters than you're used to from me. All I ask is for some time, to quote Saki, that devil, XD just kidding! I will update, this and I, Alone so hang on. And for my sweet darlings waiting so patiently for Tender Trap part 3, I HAVE NOT forgotten it and it will come along. Just not as soon as I had initially hoped. I thank you for your patience with me as I try to do probably too much in one month. But then again you know me: insanity, I loves it.


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